'Thou youngest virgin-daughter of the skies, Made in the last promotion of the blest, Whose palms, new-plucked from Paradise, In spreading branches more sublimely rise, Rich with immortal green above the rest: Whether, adopted to some neighbouring star, Thou roll'st above us in thy wandering race, Or in procession fixed and regular Mov'st with the heavens' majestic pace; Or, called to more superior bliss, Thou tread'st with seraphims the vast abyss: Whatever happy region is thy place, Cease thy celestial song a little space; Thou wilt have time enough for hymns divine, Since Heaven's eternal year is thine. Hear then a mortal Muse thy praise rehearse In no ignoble verse; But such as thy own voice did practise here, When thy first fruits of Poesy were given, To make thyself a welcome inmate there While yet a young probationer And candidate of heaven.' The poet who so excelled in majestic artificial harmonies was also the one poet of his day who could occasionally sing as the bird sings. Dryden has never received sufficient praise for his songs, inasmuch as these are mostly hidden away in his dramas, and not always adapted for quotation. The following, with a manifest political meaning, is a good example of his simple ease and melody: 'A choir of bright beauties in spring did appear To choose a May-lady to govern the year; All the nymphs were in white, and the shepherds in green; The garland was given, and Phyllis was queen: But Phyllis refused it, and sighing did say, I'll not wear a garland while Pan is away. 'While Pan and fair Syrinx are fled from our shore, The Graces are vanished, and Love is no more: The soft God of Pleasure that warmed our desires, Has broken his bow and extinguished his fires; And vows that himself and his mother will mourn Till Pan and fair Syrinx in triumph return. 'Forbear your addresses and court us no more, For we will perform what the Deity swore; But if you dare think of deserving our charms, Away with your sheep-hooks, and take to your arms; Then laurels and myrtles your brows shall adorn When Pan and his son and fair Syrinx return.' The following song is from _The Mock Astrologer_: 'You charmed me not with that fair face, Though it was all divine; To be another's is the grace That makes me wish you mine. The gods and fortune take their part Who like young monarchs fight, And boldly dare invade that heart Which is another's right. First, mad with hope, we undertake To pull up every bar; But, once possessed, we feebly make A dull defensive war. Now every friend is turned a foe, In hope to get our store: And passion makes us cowards grow Which made us brave before.'