An Ode on the Death of Mr Henry Purcell

I

Mark how the lark and linnet sing:

With rival notes

They strain their warbling throats,

To welcome in the Spring.

But in the close of night,

When Philomel begins her Heavenly lay,

They cease their mutual spite,

Drink in her music with delight,

And listening and silent, and silent and listening,

And listening and silent obey.

II

So ceased the rival crew when Purcell came,

They sung no more, or only sung his fame.

Struck dumb they all admired the god-like man,

The god-like man,

Alas, too soon retired,

As he too late began.

We beg not Hell our Orpheus to restore:

Had he been there,

Their sovereigns’ fear

Had sent him back before.

The power of harmony too well they know.

He long e’er this had tuned their jarring sphere,

And left no Hell below.

III

The Heavenly choir, who heard his notes from high,

Let down the scale of music from the sky:

They handed him along,

And all the way he taught, and all the way they sung.

Ye brethren of the lyre and tuneful voice,

Lament his lot – but at your own rejoice.

Now live secure and linger out your days.

The gods are pleased alone with Purcell's lays,

Nor know to mend their choice.

JOHN DRYDEN

Lines to W.L. (Mr William Linley) while he sang a song to Purcell's music

While my young cheek retains its healthful hues,

And I have many friends who hold me dear,

Linley! methinks, I would not often hear

Such melodies as thine, lest I should lose

All memory of the wrongs and sore distress,

For which my miserable brethren weep!

But should uncomforted misfortunes steep

My daily bread in tears and bitterness;

And if at Death's dread moment I should lie,

With no belovèd face at my bed-side,

To fix the last glance of my closing eye,

Methinks such strains, breathed by my angel-guide,

Would make me pass the cup of anguish by,

Mix with the blest, nor know that I had died!

SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE