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Ring out ye cryftal fphears,
Once blefs our human ears,
(If ye have power to touch our fenfes fo) And let your filver chime
Move in melodious time; add the
And let the base of heav'n's deep organ blow,
Make up full confort to th' angelic fymphony,
For if fuch holy fong
Enwrap our fancy long,
Time will run back, and fetch the age of gold, And fpeckled vanity
Will ficken foon and die,
And leprous fin will melt from earthly mould, And hell itself will pass away,
And leave her dolorous manfion to the peering day, XV.
Yea truth and juftice then
Will down return to men,
Orb'd in a rainbow, and like glories wearing: Mercy will fit between,
Thron'd in celeftial fheen,
With radiant feet the tiffued clouds down fteering,
And heav'n as at fome festival,
Will open wide the gates of her high palace hall.
But wifeft fate fays no,
This must not yet be fo,
The babe les yet in fmiling infancy,
That on the bitter cross
Muft redeem our lofs;
So both himself and us to glorify:
Yet first to thofe ychain'd in fleep,
The wakeful trump of doom muft thunder thro' the deep.
With fuch a horrid clang
As on mount Sinai rang,
While the red fire, and fmouldring clouds out-brake :: The aged earth agaft,
With terrour of that blast,
Shall from the furface of the center shake; When at the world's laft feffion,
The dreadful judge in middle air fhall fpread his throne..
And then at last our blifs
Full and perfect is,
But now begins; for from this happy day Th' old dragon under ground
In ftraiter limits bound,
Not half fo far cafts his ufurped fway,
And wroth to fee his kingdom fail,
Swindges the fcaly horror of his foulded tail.
The oracles are dumb,
No voice or hideous hummoners
Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving. Apollo from his shrine
Can no more divine,
With hollow fhriek the fleep of Delphios leaving. No nightly trance, or breathed fpell,
Infpires the pale-ey'd pricft from the prophetic cell.
The lonely mountains o'er,
And the refounding fhore,
A voice of weeping beard, and loud lament;
From haunted fpring, and dale,
Edg'd with poplar pale,
The parting genius is with fighing fent;
With flow'r-inwov'n treffes torn
The nymphs in twilight fhade of tangled thickets
In confecrated earth,
And on the holy hearth,
The Lars and Lemures moan with midnight plaint;
In urns, and altars round,
A drear and dying found
Affrights the Flamins at their fervice quaint; And the chill marble feems to sweat,
While each peculiar power foregoes his wonted feat. XXII.
Peor and Baalim
Forfake their temples dim,
With that twice batter'd god of Palestine,
And mooned Ashtaroth,
Heav'n's queen and mother both,
Now fits not girt with tapers holy fhine,
The Libyc Hammon shrinks his horn,
In vain the Tyrian maids their wounded Thamuz mourn.
And fullen Moloch fled,
Hath left in fhadows dred
His burning idol all of blackest hue;
In vain, with cymbals ring,
They call the grilly king,
In difmal dance about the furnace blue;
The brutish gods of Nile as faft,
Ifis and Orus, and the dog Anubis, haste.
Nor is Ofiris feen
In Memphian grove, or green,
Trampling the unfhowr'd grafs with lowings loud: Nor can he be at reft
Within his facred chest,
Naught but profoundest hell can be his fhroud; In vain with timbrel'd anthems dark
The fable-ftoled forcerers bear his worship'd ark.
He feels from Judah's land
The dredded infant's hand,
The rays of Bethlehem blind his dusky eyn; Nor all the gods befide,
Longer dare abide,
Not Typhon huge ending in fnaky twine: Our babe, to fhew his Godhead true,
Can in his fwadling bands controul the damned crew. XXVI.
So when the fun in bed,
Curtain'd with cloudy red,
Pillows his chin upon an orient wave,
The flocking fhadows pale,
Troop to th' infernal jail,
Each fetter'd ghoft flips to his feveral grave,
And the yellow-fkirted Fayes
Fly after the night-fteeds, leaving their moon-lov'd
But fee the virgin bleft
Hath laid her babe to rest,
Time is our tedious fong fhould here have ending: Heav'n's youngest teemed ftar
Hath fixt her polish'd car,
Her fleeping Lord with handmaid lamp attending: And all about the courtly ftable,
Bright-harneft angels fit in order ferviceable.
Anno ætatis 17.
On the Death of a fair Infant, a Nephew of his, dying of a Cough.
Faircft flower no fooner blown but blafted,
Summer's chief honour, if thou hadst out-lafted
That did thy cheek envermeil, thought tó kifs, But kill'd, alas, and then bewail'd his fatal blifs. II.
For fince grim Aquilo his charioteer
Of long-uncoupled bed, and childlefs eld,[held. Which 'mongst the wanton gods a foul reproach was
So mounting up in icy-pearled car,
Through middle empire of the freezing air,
But all unawares with his cold-kind embrace Unhous'd thy virgin foul from her fair biding place.
Yet art thou not inglorious in thy fate;.
But then transform'd him to a purple flower,
Yet can I not perfuade me thou art dead,
Hid from the world in a low delved tomb;
Oh no! for fomething in thy face did fhine