XII. Such music (as 'tis said) Before was never made, But when of old the sons of morning sung, While the Creator great His constellation set, And the well-balane'd world on hinges hung; And cast the dark foundations deep, 120 And bid the welt'ring waves their oozy channel keep. XIII. Ring out, ye crystal Spheres, Once bless our human ears, (If ye have pow'r to touch our senses so ;) And let your silver chime Move in melodious time; 125 And let the base of Heav'n's deep organ blow; 130 And, with your ninefold harmony, Make up full concert to th' angelic symphony. For, if such holy song Inwrap our fancy long, XIV. Time will run back, and fetch the age of gold; 135 And speckled vanity Will sicken soon and die, And leprous Sin will melt from earthly mould; And hell itself will pass away. 139 And leave her dolorous mansions to the peering day. XV. Yea, Truth and Justice then Will down return to men, Orb'd in a rainbow; and, like glories wearing, Mercy will sit between, Thron'd in celestial sheen, 145 With radiant feet the tissu'd clouds down steering; And Heav'n, as at some festival, Will open wide the gates of her high palace hall. XVI. But wisest Fate says no, This must not yet be so, 150 The babe yet lies in smiling infancy, So both himself and us to glorify: Yet first, to those yehain'd in sleep, 155 The wakeful trump of doom must thunder through the deep; XVII. With such a horrid clang As on mount Sinai rang, While the red fire and smouldering clouds out brake: The aged earth aghast, With terror of that blast, Shall from the surface to the centre shake; When, at the world's last session, 160 The dreadful Judge in middle air shall spread his throne. XVIII. And then at last our bliss Full and perfect is, But now begins; for, from this happy day, Th'old Dragon, under ground In straiter limits bound, Not half so far casts his usurped sway; And, wroth to see his kingdom fail, Swindges the scaly horror of his folded tail. The oracles are dumb, No voice or hideous hum XIX. 165 170 Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving. Apollo from his shrine Can no more divine, 176 With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving. No nightly trance, or breathed spell, Inspires the pale-ey'd priest from the prophetic cell. XX. The lonely mountains o'er, And the resounding shore, A voice of weeping heard and loud lament; From haunted spring and dale, Edg'd with poplar pale, The parting Genius is with sighing sent; With flower-inwoven tresses torn 181 185 In urns, and altars round, A drear and dying sound Affrights the Flamens at their service quaint; And the chill marble seems to sweat, 195 While each peculiar Pow'r forgoes his wonted seat. Peor and Baälim XXII. Forsake their temples dim, With that twice-batter'd God of Palestine; And mooned Ashtaroth, Heav'n's queen and mother both, Now sits not girt with tapers' holy shine; The Libye Hammon shrinks his horn, 200 In vain the Tyrian maids their wounded Thammuz mourn. 199. "That twice-battered God of Palestine;"....Dagon, first battered by Samson, then by the ark of God. XXIII. And sullen Moloch, fled, Hath left in shadows dread His burning idol all of blackest hue; In vain with cymbals' ring 905 They call the grisly king, In dismal dance about the furnace blue : The brutish Gods of Nile as fast, 210 Isis, and Orus, and the dog Anubis haste. Nor is Osiris seen XXIV. In Memphian grove or green, Trampling the unshow'r'd grass with lowings loud: Nor can he be at rest Within his sacred chest ; 215 Nought but profoundest Hell can be his shroud; In vain with timbrel'd anthems dark The sable-stoled sorcerers bear his worshipp'd ark. 220 XXV. He feels from Juda's land 'The dreaded Infant's hand, The rays of Bethlehem blind his dusky eyn; Nor all the Gods beside Longer dare abide, Not Typhon huge ending in snaky twine: Our babe, to show his Godhead true, 225 Can in his swaddling bands controul the damned crew. So, when the sun in bed, XXVI. Curtain❜d with cloudy red, 230 Pillows his chin upon an orient wave, The flocking shadows pale Troop to th' infernal jail, Each fetter'd ghost slips to his several grave; And the yellow-skirted fayes, 235 Fly after the night-steeds, leaving their moon-lov`a” maze. XXVII. But see, the Virgin blest Hath laid her Babe to rest; Time is our tedious song should here have ending; Heav'n's youngest-teemed star Hath fix'd her polish'd car, 240 Her sleeping Lord with handmaid lamp attending: And all about the courtly stable Bright-harness'd Angels sit in order serviceable. IV. THE PASSION. I. EREWHILE of music, and ethereal mirth, In wintry solstice like the shorten'd light, II. For now to sorrow must I tune iny song, And set my harp to notes of saddest woe, 3 10 Which on our dearest Lord did seize ere long, Dangers, and snares, and wrongs, and worse than so, Which he for us did freely undergo: Most perfect Hero, try'd in heaviest plight Of labours huge and hard, too hard for human wight! III. He, sov'reign Priest, stooping his regal head, His starry front low-rooft beneath the skies: 15 Yet more; the stroke of death he must abide, 20 Then lies him meekly down fast by his brethren's side. |