ix

When such musick sweet
Their bearts and ears did greet,

As never was by mortall finger strook,
Divinely-warbled voice

Answering the Stringed noise,

As all their souls in blisfull rapture took: The Air such pleasure loth to lose,

With thousand echo's still prolongs each beav'nly close.

X

Nature that beard such sound

Beneath the bollow round

Of Cynthia's seat, the Airy region thrilling, Now was almost won

To think her part was don,

And that her raign bad bere its last fulfilling; She knew such barmony alone

Could bold all Heav'n and Earth in bappier union.

xi

At last surrounds their sight

A Globe of circular light,

That with long beams the shame-fac't night array'd, The belmed Cherubim

And sworded Seraphim,

Are seen in glittering ranks with wings displaid, Harping in loud and solemn quire,

With unexpressive notes to Heav'ns new-born Heir.

xii

Such Musick (as 'tis said)

Before was never made,

But when of old the sons of morning sung, While the Creator Great

His constellations set,

And the well-ballanc't world on binges bung, And cast the dark foundations deep,

And bid the weltring waves their oozy channel keep.

xiii

Ring out ye Crystall Sphears,

Once bless our buman ears,

(If ye bave power to touch our senses so)

And let your silver chime

Move in melodious time;

And let the Base of Heav'ns deep Organ blow,

And with your ninefold harmony

Make up full consort to th' Angelike symphony.

For if such boly Song

xiv

Enwrap our fancy long,

Time will run back, and fetch the age of gold, And Speckl'd vanity

Will sicken soon and die,

And leprous sin will melt from earthly mould, And Hell it self will pass away,

And leave her dolorous mansions to the peering day.

XV

Yea Truth, and Justice then
Will down return to men,

Th'enameld Arras of the Rain-bow wearing,

And Mercy set between,

Thron'd in Celestiall sheen,

With radiant feet the tissued

And Heav'n as at som festivall,

clouds down Stearing,

Will open wide the Gates of her bigh Palace Hall.

xvi

But wisest Fate sayes 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 bimself and us to glorifie:

Yet first to those ychain'd in sleep,

The wakefull trump of doom must thunder through the

deep,

xvii

With such a horrid clang

As on mount Sinai rang

While the red fire, and smouldring clouds out brake:

The aged Earth agast

With terrour of that blast,

Shall from the surface to the center shake;

When at the worlds last session,

The dreadfull 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 balf so far casts his usurped sway,
And wrath to see his Kingdom fail,
Swindges the scaly Horrour of his foulded tail.

xix

The Oracles are dumm,

No voice or bideous bumm

Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving. Apollo from his shrine

Can no more divine,

With bollow shreik the steep of Delphos leaving. No nightly trance, or breathed spell,

Inspire's the pale-ey'd Priest from the prophetic cell.

XX

The lonely mountains o're,

And the resounding shore,

A voice of weeping beard, and loud lament;

From baunted Spring, and dale

Edg'd with poplar pale,

The parting Genius is with sighing sent,

With flowre-inwov'n tresses torn

The Nimphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets mourn.