AN ODE, For the Anniversary Feast made in Honour of St. CAECILIA.
Nov. 22. Anno Domini, 1700. Set to Musick by Dr. John Blow. The Words made by Mr. D'urfey.

TRIUMPHANT Fame, a thousand thousand Years
(Since MUSICK did the Globe inspire:)
Divine Apollo, equal to the Spheres,
Extoll'd for Wonders on his charming Lyre:
Great God of Wit, and Harmony still own'd,
His sacred Brows with Bayes unfading Crown'd,
And through the lofty Sky in Heav'n as Earth renown'd.
Conquer'd Amphion Homage paid;
Arion quell'd too, silent lies:
Orpheus, whom Trees and Rocks obey'd,
All yielded him the Prize,
Chorus. Conquer'd Amphion, &c.
[...]is Stan­ [...] the Ode [...] too long, [...] not set to [...]ick.
Long, thus th' Harmonious Deity,
Superiour in the Science reign'd
Ambitious Pan, no more aspir'd,
No more the Phrygian King
The rustick Pipe's dull Melody,
For which, he once, such Shame
Ass's Ears.
had gain'd;
But 'mongst the Sons of Art with joint Consent,
Feasting each greedy Ear,
With the delightful Strains they hear,
The blest Musician they ador'd, ador'd the Instrument.
Till in succeeding Times, a Wonder more Renown'd
Sprung from the Noble Organ's sound;
So sweetly finger'd by a lovely Maid,
'Twas thought on Earth some Goddess play'd;
Close by a purling Brook that ran
Down, through a shady Cypress Grove,
Where seeking his obdurate Love,
Apollo wander'd all alone,
This wondrous Master-piece was done,
He paus'd, when first the warbling Eccho came,
But soon each Accent did his Soul Inflame;
So much the Charmer charm'd, Caecilia was her Name,
Caecilia was the Charmer's Name,
Caecilia was the Charmer's Name.
Chorus. So much the Charmer, &c.
Caecilia, o're the Plains,
Was Empress of the Swains,
With Roses round
Her Temples, Crown'd:
She Plays, and Sings, and Raigns
Attending too, in Consort join'd
Were gather'd all the Artful kind
Attending too, &c.
Now brisk Violins they employ,
That fill e'ry hearer with Joy;
And skilfully Shew,
With Finger and Bow,
What Mirth they can raise
In Hearts when they please,
And Sorrow how quickly destroy.
A bolder Touch is next Inspiring,
Hearts with Martial Ardour firing,
A Point of War and Trumpets sounding;
Echoing Notes aloud Rebounding:
To Battle move, and now they Wound, they Kill.
A fierce Alarm the Drum does seem to beat,
Well tym'd strokes with Martial heat,
Who when they mingling Sounds repeat,
A noble Chorus fill.
Chorus. The Trumpet Sounds, &c.
But now, Ah! now, a softer Strain she plays,
The lovely Artist can all Passions raise;
Each melting Note is Love, and well does suit,
The moving Lyre, and Soul-delighting Flute.
This charming Ayre, the am'rous God gave Pain,
He look'd and sigh'd, but sigh'd and look'd in vain,
He saw no yielding Daphne on the Plain.
He saw no yeilding, &c.
The varying Notes then louder grew,
And soon from Love his Thoughts to wonder raise,
Caecilia's Art admir'd anew;
Less, then himself had Envied too,
Who now dissolv's in Praise:
Her's the Precedence did Confess,
As Musick's Queen and Patroness,
And Crown'd her with his Bayes.
His Heav'nly Voice too, then the God Essay'd;
Apollo sung. Divine Caecilia Play'd:
The Spheres in Consort Powers Divine employ,
And Nature, midst her Labour felt a Joy.
Perfection here in Harmony was found,
Angels, and list'ning Cherubs hover'd round,
Whilst Universal Praise exalts the more than Mortal Sound.
Join all then, and Sing
To Poetry's King;
And Musicks fair Queen,
The Chorus begin,
So great is the Theam,
We er lost in Extream,
And only with Joy,
A Wish can employ.
May Arts be encourag'd with Noblest Endeavour,
May Wit, Love and Harmony flourish for ever.

LONDON: Printed for Henry Playford at the Temple Change in Fleetstreet, where are to be had the 1st. and 2d. Part of the Book of PILLS, with the Catch Book, and the Orders for the Musical Society, 1700.

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