Timotheus, Bacchus and Cecilia
John Dryden (1631-1700)
Excerpted from Alexander’s Feast; or the Power of Music

     Timotheus placed on high
         Amid the tuneful quire
With flying fingers touch’d the lyre:
     The trembling notes ascend the sky
         And heavenly joys inspire.
The song began from Jove
Who left his blissful seats above
Such is the power of mighty love!
     A dragon’s fiery form belied the god;
     Sublime on radiant spires he rode
     When he to fair Olympia prest,
     And while he sought her snowy breast,
     Then round her slender waist he curl’d,
And stamp’d an image of himself, a sovereign of the world.
     The listening crowd admire the lofty sound;
     A present deity! they shout around:
     A present deity! the vaulted roofs rebound:
         With ravish’d ears
         The monarch hears,
         Assumes the god;
         Affects to nod,
     And seems to shake the spheres.

The praise of Bacchus then the sweet musician sung,
     Of Bacchus ever fair and ever young:
         The jolly god in triumph comes;
         Sound the trumpets, beat the drums!
              Flush’d with a purple grace
              He shows his honest face:
Now give the hautboys breath; he comes, he comes!
     Bacchus, ever fair and young,
          Drinking joys did first ordain;
     Bacchus’ blessings are a treasure,
     Drinking is the soldier’s pleasure:
         Rich the treasure,
         Sweet the pleasure,
     Sweet is pleasure after pain.

(Sancta Cecilia, ora pro nobis.)                       (Saint Cecilia, pray for us.)

              Thus, long ago,
     Ere heaving bellows learn’d to blow,
         While organs yet were mute,
         Timotheus, to his breathing flute
              And sounding lyre,
Could swell the soul to rage, or kindle soft desire.
     At last divine Cecilia came.
     Inventress of the vocal frame;
The sweet enthusiast from her sacred store
     Enlarged the former narrow bounds,
     And added length to solemn sounds,
With Nature’s mother-wit, and arts unknown before.
     Let old Timotheus yield the prize,
         Or both divide the crown;
     He raised a mortal to the skies,
         She drew an angel down!