A SONG. For St. CECILIA's Day at Oxford, C I. ECILIA, whofe exalted hymns With joy and wonder fill the bleft, In choirs of warbling feraphims Known and distinguish'd from the rest, Attend, harmonious faint, and fee Thy vocal fons of harmony; Attend, harmonious faint, and hear our pray❜rs; Enliven all our earthly airs, [thee: And, as thou fing'ft thy God, teach us to fing of Tune ev'ry string and ev'ry tongue, Be thou the Muse and fubject of our fong. II. Let all Cecilia's praise proclaim, Hark Hark how the flutes and trumpets raife, At bright Cecilia's name, their lays; The organ labours in her praise. Cecilia's name does all our numbers grace, And now it finks, and dwells upon the base. The found of ev'ry trembling ftring, The found and triumph of our fong. III. For ever confecrate the day, To mufic and Cecilia; Mufic, the greatest good that mortals know, And all of heav'n we have below. Music can noble hints impart, Engender fury, kindle love; The The lift'ning favages advance, The wolf and lamb around him trip, The moving woods attended as he play'd, IV. Mufic religious heats inspires, It wakes the foul, and lifts it high, And wings it with fublime defires, And fits it to bespeak the deity. Th' Almighty liftens to a tuneful tongue, And feems well-pleas'd and courted with a fong. Soft moving founds and heav'nly airs [pray❜rs. Give force to ev'ry word, and recommend our When time itself fhall be no more, And all things in confufion hurl'd, Mufic fhall then exert its pow'r, And found furvive the ruins of the world: Then faints and angels fhall agree In one eternal jubilee: All All heav'n fhall echo with their hymns divine, And God himself with pleasure fee The whole creation in a chorus join. CHORUS. Confecrate the place and day, To mufic and Cecilia. Let no rough winds approach, nor dare Nor rudely shake the tuneful air, Nor spoil the fleeting founds. Nor mournful figh nor groan be heard, But gladness dwell on ev'ry tongue; Whilst all, with voice and ftrings prepar'd, Keep up the loud harmonious fong, And imitate the bleft above, In joy, and harmony, and love, XXXX XXX 淡淡 An An ACCOUNT of the Greatest English Pô ET S. To Mr. Henry Sacheverell*, April 3, 1694. INCE, dearest Harry, you will needs request SINC A fhort account of all the mufe-poffeft, That, down from Chaucer's days to Dryden's times, And many a story told in rhime, and profe. But age has rufted with the poet writ, Worn out his language, and obfcur'd his wit: * Afterwards Doctor Sacheverell. In |