Sorry it's been so long. In my defense I did lose my password. However I have returned triumphantly! So here's a poem from John Dryden for your enjoyment:
A Song for St. Cecilia's Day
(1687)
FROM harmony, from heavenly harmony, | |
This universal frame began: | |
When nature underneath a heap | |
Of jarring atoms lay, | |
And could not heave her head, | 5 |
The tuneful voice was heard from high, | |
'Arise, ye more than dead!' | |
Then cold, and hot, and moist, and dry, | |
In order to their stations leap, | |
And Music's power obey. | 10 |
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. | 15 |
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: | 20 |
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? | |
The trumpet's loud clangour | 25 |
Excites us to arms, | |
With shrill notes of anger, | |
And mortal alarms. | |
The double double double beat | |
Of the thundering drum | 30 |
Cries Hark! the foes come; | |
Charge, charge, 'tis too late to retreat! | |
The soft complaining flute, | |
In dying notes, discovers | |
The woes of hopeless lovers, | 35 |
Whose dirge is whisper'd by the warbling lute. | |
Sharp violins proclaim | |
Their jealous pangs and desperation, | |
Fury, frantic indignation, | |
Depth of pains, and height of passion, | 40 |
For the fair, disdainful dame. | |
But O, what art can teach, | |
What human voice can reach, | |
The sacred organ's praise? | |
Notes inspiring holy love, | 45 |
Notes that wing their heavenly ways | |
To mend the choirs above. | |
Orpheus could lead the savage race; | |
And trees unrooted left their place, | |
Sequacious of the lyre; | 50 |
But bright Cecilia rais'd the wonder higher: | |
When to her organ vocal breath was given, | |
An angel heard, and straight appear'd | |
Mistaking Earth for Heaven. | |
| 55 |
The spheres began to move, | |
And sung the great Creator's praise | |
To all the Blest above; | |
So when the last and dreadful hour | |
This crumbling pageant shall devour, | 60 |
The trumpet shall be heard on high, | |
The dead shall live, the living die, | |
And Music shall untune the sky! http://www.bartleby.com/101/399.html |