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II. SON G.
O'ER the fmooth enamel'd green,
'Where no print of step hath been,
And touch the warbled string,
Under the fhady roof
Of branching elm star-proof.
I will bring you where the fits,
Such a rural queen
All Arcadia hath not feen.
III. S O N G.
NYMPHS and thepherds dance no more
On old Lycæus or Cyllene hoar,
Trip no more in twilight ranks,
Though Erymanth your lofs deplore,
A better foil fhall give ye thanks.
From the ftony Monalus,
Bring your flocks, and live with us,
To ferve the lady of this place.
Though Syrinx your Pan's mistress were,
All Arcadia hath not feen.
'HIS is the month, and this the happy morn
That he our deadly forfeit fhould release,
That glorious form, that light unfufferable,
Wherewith he wont at heav'n's high council-table
He laid afide; and here with us to be,
Forfook the courts of everlafting day,
And chofe with us a darkfom house of mortal chey.
Say, heav'nly Mufe, fhall not thy facred vein, o
Hath took no print of the approaching light,
See how from far upon the eastern rode
The ftar-led wifards hafte with odours fweet;
Have thou the honour firft, thy Lord to greet,
And join thy voice unto the angel quire,
From out his fecret altar toucht with hallow'd fire.
The HY M N.
T was the winter wild,
While the heav'n-born child
All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies; Nature in awe to him
Had doff'd her gaudy trim,
With her great master so to sympathize; It was no season then for her
To wanton with the fun her lufty paramour.
Only with speeches fair
She woos the gentle air,
To hide her guilty front with innocent fnow, And on her naked shame,
Pollute with finful blame,
The faintly vail of maiden white to throw, Confounded, that her maker's eyes
Should look fo near upon her foul deformities.
Sent down the meek-ey'd Peace ;
She crown'd with olive green, came foftly fliding Down through the turning fphear
His ready harbinger,
With turtle wing the amorous clouds dividing; And waving wide her myrtle wand,
She ftrikes an univerfal peace through fea and land.
No war, or battle's found
Was heard the world around, d
The idle fpear and fhield were high up hung, The hooked chariot flood
Unftain'd with hoftile blood.
The trumpet fpake not to the armed throng, And kings fat ftill with awful eye,
As if they furely knew their fov'reign Lord was by.
But peaceful was the night,
Wherein the prince of light
His reign of peace upon the earth began: The winds with wonder whift,
Smoothly the waters kift,
Whispering new joys to the mild ocean, Who now hath quite forgot to rave,
While bird's of calm fit brooding on the charmed wave.
The stars with deep amaze
Stand fixt in ftedfalt gaze,
Bending one way their precious influence; And will not take their flight,
For all the morning light,
Or Lucifer that often warn'd them thence;
Until their Lord himself befpake, and bid them go.
And though the fhady gloom
Had giv'n day her room,
The fun himself withheld his wonted speed,.
And hid his head for shame,
As his inferiour flame
The new-enlightned world no more thould need, He faw a greater fun appear
Than his bright throne, or burning axletree could bear
The fhepherds on the lawn,
Or ere the point of dawn,
Sat fimply chatting in a raftic row;
Full little thought they then,
That the mighty Pan
Was kindly come to live with them below:
Perhaps their loves, or elfe their fheep,
Was all that did their filly thoughts fo bufy keep,
When fuch mufic fweet
Their hearts and ears did greet,
As never was by mortal finger ftrook, Divinely warbled voice
Answering the ftringed noife,
As all their fouls in blissful rapture took: The air fuch pleasure loth to lofe,
With thousand echoes ftill prolongs each heav'nly clofe.
Nature that heard fuch found
Beneath the hollow round
of Cynthia's feat, the airy region thrilling, Now was almost won
Fo think her part was done,
And that her reign had here its laft fulfilling; She knew fuch harmony alone
Could hold all heav'n and earth in happier union.
At laft furrounds their fight
A globe of circular light,
That with long beams the fhame-fac'd nightarray'd; The helmed cherubim
And fworded feraphim,
Are feen in glitt'ring ranks with wings difplay'd,
With unexpreffive notes to heav'n's new-born heir.
Such mufic (as 'tis faid)
Before was never made,
But when of old the fons of morning fung,.
While the Creator great
His conftellations fet,
And the well-ballanc'd world on hinges hung,
And caft the dark foundations deep,
And bid the weltring waves their oozy channel keep.