And fullen Moloch fled, XXIII. Hath left in fhadows dread His burning idol all of blackest hue; In vain with cymbals ring They call the grifly king, In difmal dance about the furnace blue; The brutish Gods of Nile as fast, Ifis and Orus, and the dog Anubis hafte. Nor is Ofiris seen XXIV. In Memphian grove or green, 205 210 Trampling the unfhowr'd grafs with lowings loud: Nor can he be at rest Within his facred cheft, Nought but profoundest Hell can be his shroud; In vain with timbrel'd anthems dark The fable-ftoled forcerers bear his worshipt ark. 216 220 of Bethlehem blind his dusky eyn; 225 Nor all the God's befide, Longer dare abide, Not Typhon huge ending in fnaky twine: Our babe to fhow his Godhead true, Can in his fwadling bands controll the damned crew. So when the fun in bed, Curtain'd with cloudy red XXVI. Pillows his chin upon on orient wave, The flocking fhadows pale Troop to th' infernal jail, Each fetter'd ghoft flips to his feveral grave, 230 And the yellow-skirted Fayes 235 Fly after the night-steeds, leaving their moon-lov'd maze. But fee the Virgin bleft XXVII. Hath laid her Babe to reft, Time is our tedious fong fhould here have ending: Heav'ns youngest teemed ftar Hath fix'd her polish'd car, Her fleeping Lord with handmaid lamp attending: And all about the courtly ftable Bright harneft Angels fit in order ferviceable. 140 E IV. The PASSION, I. Rewhile of mufic, and ethereal mirth, Wherewith the stage of air and earth did ring, And joyous news of heav'nly infant's birth, My Mufe with Angels did divide so fing; But headlong joy is ever on the wing, In wintry folftice like the fhorten'd light Soon fwallow'd up in dark and long out-living night. II. For now to forrow must I tune my song, And fet my harp to notes of faddeft woe, Which on our dearest Lord did feise ere long, Most perfect Hero, try'd in heaviest plight Of labors huge and hard, too hard for human wight! 5 10 *This poem appears to have been composed soon after the Ode on the Nativity That dropt with odorous oil down his fair eyes, His ftarry front low-rooft beneath the skies; Yet more; the ftroke of death he must abide, Then lies him meekly down faft by his brethreas fide. IV. These latest scenes confine my roving verfe, Of lute, or viol still, more apt for mournful things. V. Befriend me Night, beft patronefs of grief, 20 25 Over the pole thy thickest mantle throw, 30 And work my flatter'd fancy to belief, That Heav'n and Earth are color'd with my woe; My forrows are too dark for day to know: The leaves should all be black whereon I write, 35 And letters where my tears have wash'd a wannish white VI. See, fee the chariot, and those rushing wheels, In penfive trance, and anguish, and ecftatic fit. 26. Loud o'er the reft Cremona's trump doth found;] He means Marcus Hieronymus Vida, who was a native of Cremona, and alludes particularly to his poem, Chriftiados, Libri fex. VII. Mine eye hath found that fad fepulchral rock For fure fo well inftructed are my tears, VIII. Or should I thence hurry'd on viewlefs wing, 45 50 Might think th' infection of my forrows loud 55. This fubject the Author finding to be above the years he had, when he wrote it, and nothing satisfied with what was begun, left it unfinish'd. V. On TIME. LY envious Time, till thou run out thy race, Whofe fpeed is but the heavy plummet's pace; * In thefe poems where no date is prefixed, and no circumstances direct to ascertain the time when they were compofed, the order of Milton's own editions is followed. Before this copy of verses, it appears from the author's manufcript, that he had written To be fet on a clock-caje. Which is no more than what is falfe and vain, So little is our lofs So little is thy gain. For when as each thing bad thou haft intomb'd, Then long Eternity fhall greet our blifs With an individual kifs; And Joy shall overtake us as a flood, When every thing that is fincerely good And perfectly divine, With truth, and peace, and love, shall ever fhine About the fupreme throne Of him, t' whofe happy-making fight alone When once our heav'nly-guided foul shall climb, Attir'd with ftars, we fhall for ever fit, 15 20 Triumphingover Death, and Chance, and thee, O Time. Y VI. Upon the CIRCUMCISION. E flaming Pow'rs, and winged Warriors bright,. First heard by happy watchful fhepherds ear, 5 Burn in your fighs, and borrow Seas wept from our deep forrow: He who with all Heav'n's heraldry whilere 10 |