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.
Dryden.
��XXIV
THE QUIET LIFE
CONDEMNED to Hope's delusive mine, As on we toil from day to day,
By sudden blast or slow decline Our social comforts drop away.
Well tried through many a varying year, See Levett to the grave descend :
Officious, innocent, sincere,
Of every friendless name the friend.
Yet still he fills affection's eye, Obscurely wise and coarsely kind;
Nor, lettered arrogance, deny Thy praise to merit unrefined.
�� �
