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When such music sweet
Their hearts and ears did greet,

As never was by mortal finger strook,
Divinely-warbled voice
Answ'ring the stringed noise,

As all their souls in blissful rapture took :
The air as if such pleasure loth to lose, [close.
With thousand echoes still prolongs each heav'nly

Nature that heard such sound,
Beneath the hollow round

Of Cynthia's seat, the aery region thrilling,
Now was almost won
To think her part was done,

And that her reign had here its last fulfilling;
She knew such harmony alone
Could hold all Heav'n and Earth in happier union.

XI. At last surrounds their sight A globe of circular light,

(ray'da That with long beams the shame-fac'd Night are The helmed Cherubim, And sworded Seraphim,

Are seen in glittering ranks with wings display'd, Harping in loud and solemn quire, (Heir. With unexpressive notes to Heav'n's new-bora

XII. Such music (as 'tis said) Before was never made,

With radiant feet the tissued clouds down steesing;

But when of old the sons of Morning sung,
While the Creator great
His constellations set,

And the well-balanc'd world on hinges hung,
And cast the dark foundations deep,
And bid the weltring waves their oozy channel keep.

Ring out, ye crystal spheres,
Once bless our human ears,

If ye have power to touch our senses so;
And let your silver chime
Move in melodious time,

And let the base of Heav'n's deep organ blow,
And with your ninefold harmony,
Make up full consort to th' angelic symphony.

XIV. For, if such holy song Inwrapt our fancy long,

Time will run back, and fetch the age of Gold; And speckled Vanity Will sicken soon and die,

And leprous Sin will melt from earthly mold; And Hell itself will pass away, And leave her dolorous mansions to the peering days

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,

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,

The Babe lies yet in smiling infancy,
That on the bitter cross
Must redeem our loss;

So both himself and us to glorify:
Yet, first to those ychain'd in sleep, [the deep.
The wakeful trump of doom must thunder through

With such a horrid clang
As on Mount Sinai rang,

While the red fire, and smouldring clouds out
The aged Earth aghast,
With terror of that blast,

Shall from the surface to the center shake; When at the world's last session, [throne, The dreadful Judge in middle air shall spread his

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.

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The oracles are dumb, No voice or hideous hum

Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving. Apollo from his shrine Can no more divine,

With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving. No nightly trance, or breathed spell, Inspires the pale-ey'd Priest from the prophetic cell.

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
The nymphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets


(mourn. In consecrated earth, And on the holy hearth,

[plaint ; The Lars and Lemures moan with midnight In urns, and altars round, A drear and dying sound

Affrights the Flamens at their service quaint ;
And the chill marble seems to sweat,
While cach peculiar power forgoes bis wonted seat,

Peor and Baälim
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 Lybic Hammon shrinks his horn, (moura.
In vain the Tyrian maids their wounded Thammuz

And sullen Moloch, fled,
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,
Iris, and Orus, and the dog Anubis haste.

Nor is Osiris seen
In Memphian grove or green,

Trampling the unshow'r'd grass with lowings
Nor can he be at rest
Within his sacred chest,

"Nought but profoundest hell can be his shroud; In vain with timbrel'd anthems dark The sable-stoled sorcerers bear his worshipt ark.


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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,

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