Sharp violins proclaim Their jealous pangs and desperation, Fury, frantic indignation, Depth of pains, and height of passion For the fair disdainful dame. But oh! what art can teach, What human voice can reach The sacred Organ's praise? Notes inspiring holy love, Notes that wing their heavenly ways To mend the choirs above. Orpheus could lead the savage race, And trees uprooted left their place, Sequacious of the lyre; But bright Cecilia raised the wonder higher; When to her Organ vocal breath was given, An angel heard, and straight appeared-- Mistaking earth for heaven! As from the power of sacred lays 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, The trumpet shall be heard on highs The dead shall live, the living die, And Music shall untune the sky. J. Dryden. CCV. THE SAILOR'S SONG. The sea! the sea! the open sea! The blue, the fresh, the ever free! Without a mark, without a bound, It runneth the earth's wide regions round; It plays with the clouds; it mocks the skies; Or like a cradled creature lies. I'm on the sea! I'm on the sea! I am where I would ever be; With the blue above, and the blue below, And silence wheresoever I go; If a storm should come and awake the deep, What matter? I shall ride and sleep. I love, O how I love to ride On the fierce, foaming, bursting tide, When every mad wave drowns the moon, Or whistles aloft his tempest tune, And tells how goeth the world below, And why the sou'west blasts do blow.