Yet of his little he had some to spare,
To feed the famish'd, and to clothe the bare;
For mortified he was to that degree,

.A poorer than himself he would not see.
True priests, he said, and preachers of the word,
Were only stewards of their sovereign Lord;
Nothing was their's; but all the public store;
Intrusted riches, to relieve the poor,
Who, should they steal, for want of his relief,
He judged himself accomplice with the thief.

Wide was his parish; not contracted close
In streets, but here and there a straggling house;
Yet still he was at hand, without request,
To serve the sick, to succour the distrest;
Tempting, on foot, alone, without affright,
The dangers of a dark tempestuous night.

All this, the good old man perform'd alone, Nor spar'd his pains; for curate he had none, Nor durst he trust another with his care; Nor rode himself to Paul's, the public fair, To chaffer for preferment with his gold, Where bishoprics and sinecures are sold. But duly watch'd his flock, by night and day; And from the prowling wolf redeem'd the prey: And hungry sent the wily fox away.

The proud he tam'd, the penitent he cheer'd: Nor to rebuke the rich offender fear'd.

His preaching much, but more his practise wrought (A living sermon of the truths he taught;)

For this by rules severe his life he squar'd:
That all might see the doctrine which they heard:
For priests, he said, are patterns for the rest
(The gold of heaven, who bear the God impress'd :)
But when the precious coin is kept unclean,
The sov'reign's image is no longer seen.
If they be foul on whom the people trust,
Well may the baser brass contract a rust.

The prelate for his holy life he priz'd;
The worldly pomp of prelacy despis'd.
His Saviour came not with a gaudy show;
Nor was his kingdom of the world below.

Patience in want, and poverty of mind,
These marks of church and churchmen he design'd,
And living taught, and dying left behind.
The crown he wore was of the pointed thorn:

In purple he was crucified, not born.

They who contend for place and high degree,
Are not his sons, but those of Zebedee.

Not but he knew the signs of earthly power
Might well become Saint Peter's successor;
The holy father holds a double reign,

The prince may keep his pomp, the fisher must be plain.
Such was the saint; who shone with every grace,
Reflecting, Moses-like, his Maker's face.
God saw his image lively was express'd :
And his own work, as in creation, bless'd.
The tempter saw him too with envious eye;
And, as on Job, demanded leave to try.
He took the time when Richard was depos'd,
And high and low with happy Harry clos'd.

This prince, though great in arms, the priest withstood:
Near though he was, yet not the next in blood.
Had Richard unconstrain'd, resign'd the throne,
A king can give no more than is his own:
The title stood entail'd, had Richard had a son.
Conquest, an odious name, was laid aside,
Where all submitted, none the battle tried.
The senseless plea of right by Providence
Was, by a flattering priest, invented since;
And lasts no longer than the presént sway ;
But justifies the next who comes in play.

The people's right remains; let those who dare,
Dispute their power, when they the judges are.

He join'd not in their choice, because he knew Worse might, and often did, from change ensue. Much to himself he thought; but little spoke; And, undepriv'd, his benefice forsook.

Now, through the land, his cure of souls he stretch'd: And like a primitive apostle preach'd.

Still cheerful; ever constant to his call;

By many follow'd; lov'd by most, admir'd by all.

With what he begg'd, his brethren he reliev'd,

Gaye, while he taught; and edified the more,

Because he show'd, by proof, 'twas easy to be poor.

He went not with the crowd to see a shrine ;
But fed us, by the way, with food divine.

In deference to his virtues, I forbear

To shew you what the rest in orders were:

This brilliant is so spotless and so bright,

He needs no foil, but shines by his own proper light.

At the conclusion of the book of Fables was first printed the 'Ode on Alexander's Feast,' which has so long been, and in all likelihood must ever remain, the best as well as the most popular Lyric in our language. It was written at the solicitation of the society for whom he had previously composed the Song on St. Cecilia's Day, and was rewarded with a present of 401. To print here what almost every reader knew by rote when even a schoolboy, were superfluous; but it may not be unsatisfactory to give the first ode, a performance which has been rather undeservedly overlooked in the greater splendour of the second :

A SONG FOR ST. CECILIA'S DAY, 1687.

I.

FROM harmony, from heavenly harmony

This universal frame began:

When nature underneath a heap

Of jarring atoms lay,

And could not heave her head,

The tuneful voice was heard from high,
Arise, ye more than dead.

Then cold, and hot, and moist, and dry,
In order to their stations leap,

And Music's power obey.

From harmony, from heavenly harmony,
This universal frame began:

From harmony to harmony

Through all the compass of the notes it ran,
The diapason closing full in Man.

II.

What passion cannot music raise and quell!

When Jubal struck the chorded shell,

His list'ning brethren stood around,
And, wond'ring, on their faces fell

To worship that celestial sound.

Less than a God they thought there could not dwell Within the hollow of that shell,

That spoke so sweetly and so well.

What passion cannot Music raise and quell?

III.

The trumpet's loud clangor

Excites us to arms,

With shrill notes of anger

And mortal alarms.

The double double double beat
Of the thundering drum

Cries, hark! the foes come;

Charge, charge, 'tis too late to retreat.

IV.

The soft complaining flute

In dying notes discovers

The woes of hopeless lovers,

Whose dirge is whisper'd by the warbling lute.

V.

Sharp violins proclaim

Their jealous pangs, and desperation,

Fury, frantic indignation,

Depth of pains, and height of passion,

For the fair, disdainful dame.

VI.

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.

VII.

Orpheus could lead the savage race;
And trees uprooted left their place,
Sequacious of the lyre:

But bright Cecilia rais'd the wonder higher :
When to her organ vocal breath was given,`
An angel heard, and straight appear'd,

Mistaking earth for heaven.

GRAND CHORUS.

As from the power of sacred lays,
The spheres began to move,
And sung the great Creator's praise
To all the bless'd above;

So when the last and dreadful hour
This crumbling pageant shall devour,
The trumpet shall be heard on high,
The dead shall live, the living die,
And music shall untune the sky.

Dryden died of a mortification in one of his legs, in Gerardstreet, Soho, on the 1st of May, 1700; and if the only account extant be true, the circumstances of his burial were as perverse as those of his life had ever been. The Earl of Halifax, and Lord Jefferies, son of the Chancellor, are both said to have offered a public funeral to his remains; and the one nobleman to have promised 5007., and the second 10007. for a monument to his memory. The latter lord, however, assumed to himself the preference originally given to the former, and actually contravened the orders which had been given for the funeral. A public disappointment of the ceremony was thus occasioned, at which Lord Halifax took so much offence, that he withdrew his bounty, and was again imitated by young Jefferies, who was now mean enough to confess that he was drunk when he first spoke, and could not think of keeping a word pledged in that state. In the midst of this confusion, poor Dryden's corpse lay for three weeks at the undertaker's; and, in all probability, the poverty in which he died would have made it necessary for the parish to interfere, had not Doctor Garth honourably stepped forward, and proposed a subscription-funeral, for which he set the first example by putting down a liberal contribution. The design succeeded, and the mortal remains of the immortal Dryden were removed to the College of Physicians, where Garth delivered a Latin oration, and then conducted them to the Abbey.

Of the private habits and domestic circumstances of Dryden's life, nothing can be told, because nothing is known; and the absence of all information upon such a point may be justly taken as an additional proof that his home was most severely harassed by the poverty he so often complained of. That man must