LXIV.

These cordial drops, these spirit healing balms,
Cure all her sinful bruises, clear her eyes;
Unlock her ears; recover fainting qualms :

And now grown fresh and strong, she makes her rise,
And glass of unmask'd sin, she bright displays,) 2
Whereby she sees, loaths, mends her former ways;
So soon repairs her light, doubling her new-born rays.
LXV.

But, ah! why do we (simple as we been)

With curious labour, dim, and vailed sight,

Pry in the nature of this king and queen,

Groping in darkness for so clear a light?

A light, which once could not be thought or told,
But now with blackest clouds is thick enroll'd,
Press'd down in captive chains, and pent in earthly mould.
LXVI.

Rather lament we this their wretched fate,
(Ah, wretched fate, and fatal wretchedness !)
Unlike those former days, and first estate,
When he espous'd with melting happiness,

To fair Voletta, both their lights conspiring.
He saw whate'er was fit for her requiring,
And she to his clear sight, would temper her desiring.
LXVII.

When both replenish'd with celestial light,

All coming evils could foresee and fly;

When both with clearest eye, and perfect sight,
Could every nature's difference descry:

Whose pictures now they scarcely see with pain,
Obscure and dark, like to those shadows vain,

Which thin and empty glide along Avernus' plain.

LXVIII.

The flow'rs that, frighten'd with sharp winter's dread,

Retire into their mother Tellus' womb,

Yet in the spring in troops new mustered
Peep out again from their unfrozen tomb :
The early violet will fresh arise,

Spreading his flower'd purple to the skies;
Boldly the little elf the winter's spite defies.
LXIX.

The hedge, green satin pink'd and cut, arrays;
The helio trope to cloth of gold aspires ;
In hundred-colour'd silks the tulip plays;
Th' imperial flow'r, his neck with pearl attires;
The lily, high her silver grogram rears;

The pansy, her wrought velvet garment bears;
The red-rose, scarlet, and the provence, damask wears.
LXX.

How falls it then, that such a heav'nly light,

As this great king's should sink so wondrous low,,
That scarce he can suspect his former height?
Can one eclipse so dark his shining brow,
And steal away his beauty glittering fair?
One only blot, so great a light to impair,
That never could he hope his waning to repair?
LXXI.

Ah! never could he hope once to repair

So great a wane, should not that new-born Sun,

Adopt him both his brother and his heir

;

Who through base life, and death, and Hell, would run, To seat him in his lost, now surer cell,

That he may mount to Heav'n, He sunk to Hell;

That he might liye, He died, that he might rise, He fell !

LXXII.

A perfect virgin breeds and bears a son,

Th' immortal father of his mortal mother;
Earth, Heav'n, flesh, spirit, man, God, met in one:
His younger brother's child, his children's brother,
Eternity, who yet was born and died;

His own creator, Earth's scorn, Heav'n's pride;
Who Deity, is flesh'd, and man's flesh deified.
LXXIII.

Thou uncreated Sun, Heav'n's glory bright!
Whom we with hearts, and knees low bent, adore ;
At rising, perfect, and now falling light!

Ah, what reward, what thanks shall we restore!
Thou wretched wast, that we might happy be:
O, all the good we hope, and all we see!

That thee we know and love, comes from thy love and thee.
LXXIV.

Receive, what we can only back return,

(Yet that we may return, thou first must give) A heart, which fain would flame, which fain would burn

In praise; for thee, to thee, would only live:

And thou (who satt'st in night to give us day) Light and enflame us with thy glorious ray, That we may back reflect, and borrow'd light repay. LXXV.

So we beholding with immortal eye,

The glorious picture of thy heav'nly face,

In his first beauty and true majesty,

May shake from our dull souls these fetters base:

And mounting up to that bright crystal sphere, Whence thou strik'st all the world with shudd'ring fear, May not be held by Earth, nor hold vile Earth so dear.

LXXVI.

Then should thy shepherd (poorest shepherd) sing
A thousand cantos in thy heav'nly praise,

And rouse his flagging Muse, and flutt'ring wing,
To chant thy wonders in immortal lays;

Which once thou wrought'st, when Nilus' slimy shore,
Or Jordan's banks thy mighty hand adore)

Thy judgments and thy mercies; but thy mercies more.
LXXVII.

But see, the stealing night with softest pace,
To fly the western Sun, creeps up the east ;
Cold Hespar 'gins unmask his evening face,
And calls the winking stars from drowsy rest:

Home then, my lambs; the falling drops eschew:
To-morrow shall ye feast in pastures new,
And with the rising Sun banquet on pearled dew.

CANTO VII.

I..

THE rising morn lifts up his orient head,
And spangled Heav'ns in golden robes invests ;
Thirsil upstarting from his fearless bed,

Where useless nights he safe and quiet rests,

Unhous'd his bleeting flock, and quickly thenee
Hasting to his expecting audience,

Thus with sad verse began their grieved minds t' incense.
II.

Fond man, that looks on Earth for happiness, And here long seeks what here is never found! For all our good we hold from Heav'n by lease, With many forfeits and conditions bound';

Nor can we pay the fine, and rentage due : Though now but writ, and seal'd, and giv'n anew, Yet daily we it break, then daily must renew.

III.

Why shouldst thou here look for perpetual good,
At ev'ry loss 'gainst heav'n's face repining?

Do but behold where glorious cities stood,

With gilded tops and silver turrets shining;

There now the hart fearless of greyhound feeds,

And loving pelican in safety breeds:

There screeching satyrs fill the people's empty stedes*.

IV.

Where is the Assyrian lion's golden hide,

That all the east once grasp'd in lordly paw ?

Where that great Persian bear, whose swelling pride
The lion's self tore out with rav'nous jaw?

i. e. Places.