May no rude noise of war approach your bed,
But peace her downy wings about you spread,
Calm as the season, when fair halcyons breed;
May you, and the just owner of your breast,
Both in as full content and happiness be blessed,
As the first sinless pair of old enjoyed,
Ere guilt their innocence and that destroyed;
Till nothing but continuance to your bliss can add,
And you, by Heaven alone, be happier made;
Till future poets, who your lives review,
When they'd their utmost pitch of flattery show,
Shall pray their patrons may become like you;
Nor know to frame a skilful wish more great,
Nor think a higher blessing in the gift of fate.
AN ODE FOR AN ANNIVERSARY OF MUSIC ON ST. CECILIA'S DAY.[1]
I
Tune the voice, and tune the flute,
Touch the silent sleeping lute,
And make the strings to their own measures dance.
Bring gentlest thoughts, that into language glide,
Bring softest words, that into numbers slide;
Let every hand, and every tongue.
To make the noble concert throng.
Let all in one harmonious note agree
To frame the mighty song,
For this is music's sacred jubilee.
2
And break the yielding air,
The ravished sense how pleasingly they wound,
And call the listening soul into the ear;
- ↑ Set to music by Dr. Blow.
