JOHN DRYDEN

Like mounting larks, to the new morning sing. There thou, sweet Saint, before the quire shalt go, As harbinger of Heaven, the way to show, The way which thou so well hast learn'd below.

��harmony, from heavenly harmony, This universal frame began : When nature underneath a heap

Of jarring atoms lay, And could not heave her head, The tuneful voice was heard from high,

' Arise, ye more than dead 1 ' Then cold, and hot, and moist, and dry, In order to their stations leap, And Music's power obey. From harmony, from heavenly harmony, This universal frame began : From harmony to harmony Through all the compass of the notes it ran, The diapason closing full in Man.

What passion cannot Music raise and quell ?

When Jubal struck the chorded shell, His listening brethren stood around,

And, wondering, on their faces fell To worship that celestial sound :

Less than a God they thought there could not dwell Within the hollow of that shell, That spoke so sweetly, and so well. What passion cannot Music raise and quell ?

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