Where the rude axe, with heaved stroke, And, as I wake, sweet music breathe And bring all heaven before mine eyes. And may at last my weary age Find out the peaceful hermitage, The hairy gown and mossy cell, Where I may sit and rightly spell “TO ALL YOU LADIES NOW ON LAND." 55 Of every star that heaven doth show, JOHN MILTON. TO ALL YOU LADIES NOW ON LAND." SONG WRITTEN AT SEA. To all you ladies now on land, But first would have you understand The Muses now, and Neptune too, For tho' the Muses should prove kind, Yet if rough Neptune rouse the wind, Our paper, pen, and ink, and we Then, if we write not by each post, Our tears we'll send a speedier way : The king, with wonder and surprise, Because the tides will higher rise But let him know it is our tears Should foggy Opdam chance to know The Dutch would scorn so weak a foe, For what resistance can they find From men who 've left their hearts behind! Let wind and weather do its worst, Be you to us but kind; Let Dutchmen vapor, Spaniards curse, No sorrow we shall find: 'Tis then no matter how things go, Or who's our friend, or who's our foe. To pass our tedious hours away, We throw a merry main : Or else at serious ombre play; But now our fears tempestuous grow Perhaps permit some happier man When any mournful tune you hear, As if it sigh'd with each man's care For being so remote : Think then how often love we 've made In justice, you cannot refuse To think of our distress, When we for hopes of honor lose All these designs are but to prove Ourselves more worthy of your love. And now we've told you all our loves, In hopes this declaration moves Some pity for our tears; Let's hear of no inconstancy, We have too much of that at sea. CHARLES SACKVILLE, Earl of Dorset.1 SONG FOR SAINT CECILIA'S DAY. 1687. FROM Harmony, from heavenly Harmony When nature underneath a heap Of jarring atoms lay 1 CHARLES SACKVILLE, Viscount Buckhurst, and afterwards Earl of Dorset, was born in 1637. In his youth he was one of he wildest and most debauched of all the courtiers who surrounded Charles II., but he was always a man of refined tastes, and a patron of literature. He died in 1706. This song, the best known of his poems, was written on board the English fleet at the time of the first war between Charles II. and the Dutch, and on the eve of battle. And could not heave her head, The tuneful voice was heard from high, Then cold, and hot, and moist, and dry, And Music's power obey. From Harmony, from heavenly Harmony From Harmony to Harmony Through all the compass of the notes it ran, What passion cannot Music raise and quell? Less than a God they thought there could not dwell That spoke so sweetly and so well. What passion cannot Music raise and quell? The trumpet's loud clangor Excites us to arms, With shrill notes of anger And mortal alarms, The double double double beat Of the thundering drum Cries, "Hark! the foes come; Charge, charge, 't is too late to retreat ! " The soft complaining flute In dying notes discovers The woes of hopeless lovers, Whose dirge is whispered by the warbling lute. |