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![[down]](http://www.thomasgray.org/images/bottom.gif) | T | E | T/E | | "Ode for Music" |
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| | | | | | Air |
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| | | E | | 1 | "Hence, avaunt, ('tis holy ground) |
| | | E | | 2 | Comus and his midnight-crew, |
| | | | | 3 | And Ignorance with looks profound, |
| | | E | | 4 | And dreaming Sloth of pallid hue, |
| | | | | 5 | Mad Sedition's cry profane, |
| | | E | | 6 | Servitude that hugs her chain, |
| | | E | | 7 | Nor in these consecrated bowers |
| | | E | | 8 | Let painted Flattery hide her serpent-train in flowers. |
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| | | | | | Chorus |
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| | | | | 9 | "Nor Envy base nor creeping Gain |
| | | | | 10 | Dare the Muse's walk to stain, |
| | | E | | 11 | While bright-eyed Science watches round: |
| | | | | 12 | Hence, away, 'tis holy ground!" |
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![[up]](http://www.thomasgray.org/images/top.gif) | | | | | Recitative |
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| | | E | | 13 | From yonder realms of empyrean day |
| | | E | | 14 | Bursts on my ear the indignant lay: |
| | | E | | 15 | There sit the sainted sage, the bard divine, |
| | | E | | 16 | The few whom genius gave to shine |
| | | E | | 17 | Through every unborn age and undiscovered clime. |
| | | E | | 18 | Rapt in celestial transport they, (accomp.) |
| | | | | 19 | Yet hither oft a glance from high |
| | | | | 20 | They send of tender sympathy |
| | | E | | 21 | To bless the place, where on their opening soul |
| | | E | | 22 | First the genuine ardour stole. |
| | | E | | 23 | 'Twas Milton struck the deep-toned shell, |
| | | | | 24 | And, as the choral warblings round him swell, |
| | | E | | 25 | Meek Newton's self bends from his state sublime, |
| | | E | | 26 | And nods his hoary head and listens to the rhyme. |
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| | | | | | Air |
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| | | E | | 27 | "Ye brown o'er-arching groves, |
| | | E | | 28 | That Contemplation loves, |
![[up]](http://www.thomasgray.org/images/top.gif) | | E | | 29 | Where willowy Camus lingers with delight! |
![[down]](http://www.thomasgray.org/images/bottom.gif) | | E | | 30 | Oft at the blush of dawn |
| | | E | | 31 | I trod your level lawn, |
| | | E | | 32 | Oft wooed the gleam of Cynthia silver-bright |
| | | E | | 33 | In cloisters dim, far from the haunts of Folly, |
| | | E | | 34 | With Freedom by my side, and soft-eyed Melancholy." |
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| | | | | | Recitative |
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| | | E | | 35 | But hark! the portals sound and, pacing forth |
| | | E | | 36 | With solemn steps and slow, |
| | | E | | 37 | High potentates and dames of royal birth |
| | | E | | 38 | And mitred fathers in long order go: |
| | | E | | 39 | Great Edward with the lilies on his brow |
| | | | | 40 | From haughty Gallia torn, |
| | | E | | 41 | And sad Chatillon, on her bridal morn |
| | | E | | 42 | That wept her bleeding love, and princely Clare, |
| | | E | | 43 | And Anjou's heroine, and the paler rose, |
| | | E | | 44 | The rival of her crown and of her woes, |
| | | E | | 45 | And either Henry there, |
| | | E | | 46 | The murthered saint and the majestic lord, |
![[up]](http://www.thomasgray.org/images/top.gif) | | | | 47 | That broke the bonds of Rome, |
![[down]](http://www.thomasgray.org/images/bottom.gif) | | E | | 48 | (Their tears, their little triumphs o'er, (accomp.) |
| | | | | 49 | Their human passions now no more, |
| | | | | 50 | Save charity, that glows beyond the tomb). |
| | | E | | 51 | All that on Granta's fruitful plain |
| | | | | 52 | Rich streams of regal bounty poured, |
| | | E | | 53 | And bade these awful fanes and turrets rise, |
| | | E | | 54 | To hail their Fitzroy's festal morning come; |
| | | | | 55 | And thus they speak in soft accord |
| | | E | | 56 | The liquid language of the skies. |
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| | | | | | Quartetto |
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| | | E | | 57 | "What is grandeur, what is power? |
| | | E | | 58 | Heavier toil, superior pain. |
| | | | | 59 | What the bright reward we gain? |
| | | | | 60 | The grateful memory of the good. |
| | | E | | 61 | Sweet is the breath of vernal shower, |
| | | E | | 62 | The bee's collected treasures sweet, |
| | | E | | 63 | Sweet music's melting fall, but sweeter yet |
| | | E | | 64 | The still small voice of gratitude." |
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![[down]](http://www.thomasgray.org/images/bottom.gif) | | | | | Recitative |
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| | | E | | 65 | Foremost and leaning from her golden cloud |
| | | E | | 66 | The venerable Margaret see! |
| | | | | 67 | "Welcome, my noble son," (she cries aloud) |
| | | | | 68 | "To this, thy kindred train, and me: |
| | | E | | 69 | Pleased in thy lineaments we trace |
| | | E | | 70 | A Tudor's fire, a Beaufort's grace. |
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| | | | | | Air |
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| | | E | | 71 | "Thy liberal heart, thy judging eye, |
| | | E | | 72 | The flower unheeded shall descry, |
| | | E | | 73 | And bid it round heaven's altars shed |
| | | E | | 74 | The fragrance of its blushing head: |
| | | E | | 75 | Shall raise from earth the latent gem |
| | | E | | 76 | To glitter on the diadem. |
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| | | | | | Recitative |
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![[up]](http://www.thomasgray.org/images/top.gif) | | E | | 77 | "Lo, Granta waits to lead her blooming band, |
![[down]](http://www.thomasgray.org/images/bottom.gif) | | E | | 78 | Not obvious, not obtrusive, she |
| | | E | | 79 | No vulgar praise, no venal incense flings; |
| | | E | | 80 | Nor dares with courtly tongue refined |
| | | | | 81 | Profane thy inborn royalty of mind: |
| | | | | 82 | She reveres herself and thee. |
| | | E | | 83 | With modest pride to grace thy youthful brow |
| | | E | | 84 | The laureate wreath, that Cecil wore, she brings, |
| | | | | 85 | And to thy just, thy gentle hand |
| | | E | | 86 | Submits the fasces of her sway, |
| | | E | | 87 | While spirits blest above and men below |
| | | E | | 88 | Join with glad voice the loud symphonious lay. |
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| | | | | | Grand Chorus |
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| | | E | | 89 | "Through the wild waves as they roar |
| | | E | | 90 | With watchful eye and dauntless mien |
| | | E | | 91 | Thy steady course of honour keep, |
| | | E | | 92 | Nor fear the rocks nor seek the shore: |
| | | E | | 93 | The star of Brunswick smiles serene, |
| | | E | | 94 | And gilds the horrors of the deep." |
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![[up]](http://www.thomasgray.org/images/top.gif) | | | | | FINIS |