XXII. Peor and Baälim Forsake their temples dim, With that twice-batter'd God of Palestine ;1 And mooned Ashtaroth, Heaven's queen and mother both, Now sits not girt with tapers' holy shine; The Libyck Hammon2 shrinks his horn, In vain the Tyrian maids their wounded Thammuz3 mourn. And sullen Moloch, fled, XXIII. Hath left in shadows dread His burning idol all of blackest hue; In vain with cymbals' ring They call the grisly king, In dismal dance about the furnace blue: The brutish Gods of Nile as fast, Isis, and Orus, and the dog Anubis, haste. Nor is Osiris scen XXIV. In Memphian grove or green, Trampling the unshower'd grass with lowings loud : Nor can he be at rest Within his sacred chest ; Nought but profoundest hell can be his shroud ; In vain with timbrell'd anthems dark The sable-stoled sorcerers bear his worshipt ark. He feels from Juda's land XXV. The dreaded Infant's hand, The rays of Bethlehem blind his dusky eyn; God of Palestine:' Dagon.-2 Hammon:' Jupiter-Ammon.- 'Thammuz' see 1st book of Paradise Lost.'-Unshower'd:' there being no rain in Egypt. Nor all the gods beside Longer dare abide, Not Typhon huge ending in snaky twine: Our Babe, to show his Godhead true, Can in his swaddling bands controul the damned crew. So, when the sun in bed, Curtain'd with cloudy red, XXVI. Pillows his chin upon an orient wave, The flocking shadows pale Troop to the infernal jail, Each fetter'd ghost slips to his several grave; And the yellow-skirted Fayes Fly after the night-steeds, leaving their moon-loved maze. But see, the Virgin blest XXVII. Hath laid her Babe to rest; Time is, our tedious song should here have ending; Heaven's youngest-teemed star Hath fix'd her polish'd car, Her sleeping Lord with handmaid lamp attending: And all about the courtly stable Bright-harness'd Angels sit in order serviceable. THE PASSION.1 I. EREWHILE of musick, and ethereal mirth, Wherewith the stage of air and earth did ring, ''The Passion:' probably a college exercise, written immediately after the former-the one, perhaps, at Christmas, and the other at Easter. My Muse with Angels did divide to sing; In wintery solstice like the shorten'd light, II. For now to sorrow must I tune my song, And set my harp to notes of saddest woe, Which on our dearest Lord did seise ere long, Dangers, and snares, and wrongs, and worse than so, Which he for us did freely undergo : Most perfect Hero, tried in heaviest plight Of labours huge and hard, too hard for human wight! III. He, sovran priest, stooping his regal head, That dropt with odorous oil down his fair eyes, His starry front low-rooft beneath the skies: Yet more; the stroke of death he must abide, Then lies him meekly down fast by his brethren's side. IV. These latest scenes confine my roving verse; Of lute, or viol still, more apt for mournful things. V. Befriend me, Night, best patroness of grief; Over the pole thy thickest mantle throw, And work my flatter'd fancy to belief, · ''Cremona :' alluding to the Italian Vida's poem, The Christiad.' That Heaven and Earth are colour'd with my woe; The leaves should all be black whereon I write, And letters, where my tears have wash'd, a wannish white. VI. See, see the chariot, and those rushing wheels, In pensive trance, and anguish, and ecstatick fit. VII. Mine eye hath found that sad sepulchral rock For sure so well instructed are my tears, VIII. Or should I thence hurried on viewless wing Might think the infection of my sorrows loud This subject the Author finding to be above the years he had, when he wrote it, and nothing satisfied with what was begun, left it unfinished. 210 UPON THE CIRCUMCISION. YE flaming Powers, and winged Warriours bright, That erst with musick, and triumphant song, First heard by happy watchful shepherds' ear, So sweetly sung your joy the clouds along Through the soft silence of the listening night; Now mourn; and, if sad share with us to bear Your fiery essence can distil no tear, Burn in your sighs, and borrow Seas wept from our deep sorrow; He, who with all Heaven's heraldry whilere Sore doth begin His infancy to seise! O more exceeding love, or law more just? Were lost in death, till he that dwelt above, Emptied his glory, even to nakedness; And that great covenant which we still transgress Entirely satisfied; And the full wrath beside, Of vengeful justice bore for our excess; And seals obedience first, with wounding smart, This day; but O! ere long, Huge pangs and strong Will pierce more near his heart. |