Apollo from his shrine Can no more divine, 176 With hollow fhriek the steep of Delphos leaving. No nightly trance, or breathed fpell Inspires the pale-ey'd priest from the prophetic cell. 180 XX. The lonely mountains o'er, And the refounding fhore, A voice of weeping heard and loud lament; From haunted spring, and dale Edg'd with poplar pale, The parting Genius is with fighing fent; With flowr-inwoven treffes torn 185 (mourn. The Nymphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets In confecrated earth, XXI. And on the holy hearth, 190 The Lars, and Lemures moan with midnight plaint; In urns, and altars round, A drear and dying found Affrights the Flamens at their service quaint; And the chill marble feems to sweat, 195 While each peculiar Pow'r forgoes his wonted feat. Peor and Baälim XXII. Forfake their temples dim, With that twice batter'd God of Palestine; And And mooned Afhtaroth, Heav'n's queen and mother both, Now fits not girt with tapers holy shine; The Lybic Hammon shrinks his horn, 200 (mourn. In vain the Tyrian maids their wounded Thammuz XXIII. And fullen Moloch fled, Hath left in fhadows dread His burning idol all of blackest hue; In vain with cymbals ring They call the grifly king, 205 In difmal dance about the furnace blue; The brutish Gods of Nile as fast, 210 Ifis and Orus, and the dog Anubis haste. Nor is Ofiris seen XXIV. In Memphian grove or green, Trampling the unflrowr'd grass with lowings loud: Nor can he be at reft Within his facred chest, 516 Nought but profoundest Hell can be his shroud; In vain with timbrel'd anthems dark The fable-ftoled forcerers bear his worshipt 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 befide, Longer dare abide, Not Typhon huge ending in snaky twine: Our babe to fhow his Godhead true, 225 Can in his fwadling bands controll the damned crew. XXVI. So when the fun in bed, Curtain'd with cloudy red, 230 Pillows his chin upon an orient wave, The flocking fhadows pale Troop to th' infernal jail, Each fetter'd ghoft flips to his several grave, And the yellow-fkirted Fayes Fly after the night-steeds, leaving their moon-lov'd XXVII. But see the Virgin bleft 235 (maze. Hath laid her Babe to rest, Time is our tedious fong should here have ending: Heav'n's youngest teemed star Hath fix'd her polish'd car, 240 Her fleeping Lord with handmaid lamp attending: And all about the courtly stable Bright-harnest Angels fit in order serviceable. The IV. The PASSION. I. REWHILE of music, and ethereal mirth, ER Wherewith the stage of air and earth did ring, And joyous news of heav'nly Infant's birth, 5 In wintry folftice like the shorten'd light Soon fwallow'd up in dark and long out-living night. II. For now to forrow muft I tune my fong, And set my harp to notes of saddest woe, ΙΟ Which on our dearest Lord did feise ere long, Dangers, and fnares, and wrongs, and worse than so, Which he for us did freely undergo: Most perfect Hero, try'd in heaviest plight Of labors huge and hard, too hard for human wight! III. He fov'ran Priest stooping his regal head, That dropt with odorous oil down his fair eyes, His ftarry front low-rooft beneath the skies; 15 20 Yet more; the stroke of death he must abide, Then lies him meekly down fast by his brethrens fide. IV. 'These latest scenes confine my roving verse, ?25 Of lute, or viol ftill, more apt for mournful things. V. Befriend me Night, best patroness of grief, That Heav'n and Earth are color'd with my woe; 30 The leaves fhould all be black whereon I write, 34 And letters where my tears have wash'da wannish white. VI See, fee the chariot, and those rushing wheels, In pensive trance, and anguish, and exstatic fit. VII. Mine eye hath found that fad fepulchral rock up lock, 45 Yet |