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Books should not business, entertain

LIBERTY. the light, And sleep, as undisturbed as death, the WHERE honor or where conscience does night.

not bind, My house a cottage more

No other law shall shackle me; Than palace ; and should fitting be Slave to myself I will not be : For all my use, no luxury.

Nor shall my future actions be confined My garden painted o'er

By my own present mind. With Nature's hand, not Art's; and Who by resolves and vows engaged does pleasures yield,

stand Horace might envy in his Sabine field. For days that yet belong to Fate,

Does, like an unthrift, mortgage his Thus would I double my life's fading space;

Before it falls into his hand. For he that runs it well twice runs his The bondman of the cloister so

All that he does receive does always owe; And in this true delight,

And still as time comes in, it goes away, These unbought sports, this happy state, Not to enjoy, but debts to pay. I would not fear, nor wish, my fate; Unhappy slave ! and pupil to a bell! But boldly say each night,

Which his hour's work, as well as hours, To-morrow let my sun his beams display, does tell! Or in clouds hide them; I have lived to- Unhappy to the last, the kind releasing day.

knell.

estate

race.

FROM DRYDEN TO BURNS.

FROM DRYDEN TO BURNS.

JOHN DRYDEN.

(1631 - 1701.)

The soft complaining flute
In dying notes discovers

The woes of hopeless lovers,
Whose dirge is whispered by the war.

bling lute.

SONG FOR SAINT CECILIA'S DAY, 1687.

From harmony, from heavenly harmony,
This universal frame began :

Sharp violins proclaim
When Nature underneath a heap

Their jealous pangs and desperation, Of jarring atoms lay,

Fury, frantic indignation, And could not heave her head,

Depth of pains, and height of passion,

For the fair, disdainful dame.
The tuneful voice was heard from high,

Arise, ye more than dead!
Then cold, and hot, and moist, and dry But 0, what art can teach,
In order to their stations leap, What human voice can reach,
And music's power obey.

The sacred organ's praise ?
From harmony, from heavenly harmony, Notes inspiring holy love,

This universal frame began : Notes that wing their heavenly ways From harmony to harmony

To mend the choirs above. Through all the compass of the notes it

ran, The diapason closing full in man.

Orpheus could lead the savage race,

And trees uprooted left their place, What passion cannot music raise and quell? But bright Cecilia raised the wonder

Sequacious of the lyre:
When Jubal struck the chorded shell
His listening brethren stood around,

higher; And, wondering, on their faces fell

When to her organ vocal breath was To worship that celestial sound.

given, Less than a God they thought there could An angel heard, and straight appeared, not dwell

Mistaking earth for heaven! Within the hollow of that shell

That spoke so sweetly and so well.
What passion cannot music raise and quell?

As from the power of sacred lays
The trumpet's loud clangor

The spheres began to move,
Excites us to arms,

And sung the great Creator's praise
With shrill notes of anger

To all the blest above;
And mortal alarms.

So when the last and dreadful hour
The double double double beat This crumbling pageant shall devour,
Of the thundering drum

The trumpet shall be heard on high, Cries, Hark! the foes come ; The dead shall live, the living die, Charge, charge, 't is too late to retreat!” And music shall untune the sky.

GRAND CHORUS.

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