III.

He fov'ran Priest stooping his regal head,

That dropt with odorous oil down his fair eyes,
Poor fleshly tabernacle entered,

His starry front low-rooft beneath the skies;
O what a mask was there, what a disguise!

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20

Yet more; the ftroke of death he must abide, Then lies him meekly down fast by his brethrens fide.

IV.

These latest scenes confine my roving verse,
To this horizon is my Phoebus bound;
His Godlike acts, and his temptations fierce,
And former fufferings other where are found;
Loud o'er the rest Cremona's trump doth found;
Me fofter airs befit, and softer strings

Of lute, or viol still, more apt for mournful things.

V.

Befriend me Night, beft patronefs of grief,
Over the pole thy thickest mantle throw,

26. Loud o'er the rest Cremona's trump doth found;] He means Marcus Hieronymus Vida, who was a native of Cremona, and al

25

30 And

ludes particularly to his poem, Chriftiados Libri fex. And Mantua the birth-place of Virgil being near to Cremona, Virg. Ecl. IX. 28.

X X 2

Mantua

And work my flatter'd fancy to belief,

That Heav'n and Earth are color'd with my
My forrows are too dark for day to know:

woe;

The leaves fhould all be black whereon I write, 34 And letters where my tears have wafh'd a wannish white.

VI.

See, fee the chariot, and thofe rushing wheels,
That whirl'd the Prophet up at Chebar flood,
My spirit some transporting Cherub feels,
To bear me where the tow'rs of Salem ftood,
Once glorious tow'rs, now funk in guiltless blood; 4o
There doth my foul in holy vision fit

In pensive trance, and anguish, and ecstatic fit.

VII.

Mine eye hath found that fad fepulchral rock
That was the casket of Heav'n's richest store,

And here though grief my feeble hands up lock, 45
Yet on the foften'd quarry would I score

Mantua væ, miferæ nimium vicina Cremona, Mr. Pope takes occafion from thence to pay a handfome compliment to Vida in his Effay on Criticism;

My

Cremona now shall ever boast thy name,
As next in place to Mantua, next in fame.
37. That whirl'd the prophet up at Chebar
flood,] As the prophet Ezekiel faw the

My plaining verfe as lively as before;

For fure fo well inftructed are my tears,

That they would fitly fall in order'd characters.

VIII.

Or should I thence hurried on viewless wing,
Take up a weeping on the mountains wild,
The gentle neighbourhood of grove and spring
Would foon unbofom all their echoes mild,
And I (for grief is easily beguil'd)

Might think th' infection of my forrows loud

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Had got a race of mourners on fome pregnant cloud. This fubject the Author finding to be above the years he had, when he wrote it, and nothing fatisfied with what was begun, left it unfinish'd.

V.

On TIME.

FLY envious Time, till thou run out thy race,

Call on the lazy leaden-stepping hours,

Whose speed is but the heavy plummet's pace;

vision of the four wheels and of the glory of God at the river Chebar, and was carried in the spirit to Jerufalem; fo the poet fancies himfelf transported to the fame place.

And

In these poems where no date is prefix'd, and no circumftances direct us to afcertain the time when they were compos'd, we follow the order of Milton's own editions. And before

And glut thyself with what thy womb devours,
Which is no more than what is false and vain,
And merely mortal dross ;

So little is our lofs,

So little is thy gain.

For when as each thing bad thou haft intomb'd,
And laft of all thy greedy felf confum'd,

Then long Eternity fhall greet our bliss

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ΙΟ

With an individual kifs;

And Joy fhall overtake us as a flood,

When every thing that is fincerely good

And perfectly divine,

With truth, and peace, and love, fhall ever fhine
About the fupreme throne

Of him, t'whofe happy-making fight alone

When once our heav'nly-guided foul fhall clime,
Then all this earthy grofnefs quit,

Attir'd with ftars, we fhall for ever fit,

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[Time.

Triumphing over Death, and Chance, and thee, O

this copy
of verses, it appears from the Manu-
fcript that the poet had written To be fet on a
clock-cafe.

Upon

18. happy-making fight,] The plain

English of beatific vifion.

15. O more exceeding love or law more just ? Just

YE

VI.

Upon the CIRCUMCISION.

E flaming Pow'rs, and winged Warriors bright That erft with mufic, and triumphant song, First heard by happy watchful fhepherds ear, So fweetly fung your joy the clouds along Through the foft filence of the lift'ning night; Now mourn, and if fad fhare with us to bear Your fiery effence can diftil no tear,

5

Burn in your fighs, and borrow

Seas wept from our deep forrow:

He who with all Heav'n's heraldry whilere

Enter'd the world, now bleeds to give us ease;
Alas, how foon our fin

Sore doth begin

His infancy to feife!

O more exceeding love or law more juft?

IO

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