It was no season then for her To wanton with the Sun, her lusty paramour. Only with speeches fair She wooes the gentle air ODES. To hide her guilty front with innocent snow; The saintly veil of maiden white to throw; Should look so near upon her foul deformities. But he, her fears to cease, Sent down the meek-ey'd Peace; When such music sweet Their hearts and ears did greet, As never was by mortal finger strook ; Answering the stringed noise, As all their souls in blissful rapture took: With thousand echoes still prolongs each hea- Nature that heard such sound, Of Cynthia's seat, the aery region thrilling, She, crown'd with olive green, came softly slid-To think her part was done, Down through the turning sphere, [ing With turtle wing the amorous clouds dividing; And, waving wide her myrtle wand, She strikes an universal peace through sea and land. No war, or battle's sound, Was heard the world around: And that her reign had here its last fulfilling ; She knew such harmony alone Could hold all Heaven and Earth in happier union. At last surrounds their sight That with long beams the shamefac'd night The idle spear and shield were high up hung; And sworded Seraphim, The hooked chariot stood Unstain'd with hostile blood; The trumpet spake not to the armed throng; And kings sat still with aweful eye, As if they surely knew their sovran Lord was by. But peaceful was the night, His reign of peace upon the Earth began: Smoothly the waters kist, Whispering new joys to the mild ocean, Who now hath quite forgot to rave, While birds of calm sit brooding on the charmed wave. The stars, with deep amaze, Bending one way their precious influence ; For all the morning light, Or Lucifer that often warn'd them thence; But in their glimmering orbs did glow, [array'd; [play'd, Are seen in glittering ranks with wings dis- With unexpressive notes, to Heaven's new-born Until their Lord himself bespake, and bid them For, if such holy song Than his bright throne, or burning axletree, Yea, Truth and Justice then Will down return to men, Orb'd in a rainbow; and, like glories wearing, Mercy will sit between, Thron'd in celestial sheen, With radiant feet the tissued clouds down And Heaven, as at some festival, [steering; Will open wide the gates of her high palace hall, But wisest Fate says no, Was all that did their silly thoughts so busy keep. This must not yet be so, The babe yet lies in smiling infancy, That on the bitter cross Must redeem our loss; So both himself and us to glorify: Yet first, to those ychain'd in sleep, His burning idol all of blackest hue; In vain with cymbals' ring They call the grisly king, In dismal dance about the furnace blue : The brutish gods of Nile as fast, The wakeful trump of doom must thunder Isis, and Orus, and the dog Anubis, haste. through the deep; With such a horrid clang As on mount Sinai rang, The aged Earth aghast With terrour of that blast, Shall from the surface to the centre shake; When, at the world's last session, Nor is Osiris seen In Memphian grove or green, Trampling the unshower'd grass with lowings loud: Nor can he be at rest Within his sacred chest ; Nought but profoundest Hell can be his shroud; In vain with timbrell'd anthems dark The dreadful Judge in middle air shall spread his The sable-stoled sorcerers bear his worshipt ark. throne. So, when the Sun in bed, Pillows his chin upon an orient wave, Troop to the infernal jail, And the yellow-skirted Fayes Each fetter'd ghost slips to his several grave; Fly after the night-steeds, leaving their moonlov'd maze. But see, the Virgin blest Time is, our tedious song should here have Heaven's youngest-teemed star Hath fix'd her polish'd car, Her sleeping Lord with handmaid lamp atAnd all about the courtly stable [tending: Bright-harness'd angels sit in ord er serviceable. THE PASSION. EREWHILE of music, and ethereal mirth, Wherewith the stage of air and Earth did ring, For now to sorrow must I tune my song, 2 This Ode was probably composed soon after that on the Nativity. And this perhaps was a college exercise at Easter, as the last was at Christmas. WARTON. These latest scenes confine my roving verse; His god-like acts, and his temptations fierce, Of lute, or viol still, more apt for mournful things. Befriend me, Night, best patroness of grief; The leaves should all be black whereon I write, And letters, where my tears have wash'd, a wannish white, See, see the chariot, and those rushing wheels, There doth my soul in holy vision sit, fit. Mine eye hath found that sad sepulchral rock And here though grief my feeble hands up lock, For sure so well instructed are my tears, Might think the infection of my sorrows loud Had got a race of mourners on some pregnant cloud. But kill'd, alas! and then bewail'd his fatal bliss. For since grim Aquilo, his charioteer, Of long-uncoupled bed and childless eld, Which, 'mongst the wanton gods, a foul reproach was held. So, mounting up in icy-pearled car, But, all unwares, with his cold kind embrace Unhous'd thy virgin soul from her fair hiding place. Yet art thou not inglorious in thy fate; But then transform'd him to a purple flower: Alack, that so to change thee Winter had no power! 'Written in 1625, and first inserted in edition 1673. He was now seventeen. WARTON. Yet can I not persuade me thou art dead, Oh no! for something in thy face did shine Resolve me then, oh soul most surely blest, Wert thou some star which from the ruin'd roof Let down in cloudy throne to do the world some good? Or wert thou of the golden-winged host, To scorn the sordid world, and unto Heaven aspire? But oh! why didst thou not stay here below To stand 'twixt us and our deserved smart? But thou canst best perform that office where thou art. Then thou, the mother of so sweet a child, This if thou do,' he will an offspring give, That, till the world's last end, shall make thy name to live. For when as each thing bad thou hast entomb'd, And joy shall overtake us as a flood, With truth, and peace, and love, shall ever shine Of him, to whose happy-making sight alone, When once our heavenly-guided soul shall climb, Then, all this earthy grossness quit, Attir'd with stars, we shall for ever sit, Triumphing over Death, and Chance, and thee, O Time. AT A SOLEMN MUSIC. BLEST pair of Sirens, pledges of Heaven's joy, With saintly shout, and solemn jubilee ; That we on Earth, with undiscording voice, To live with him, and sing in endless morn of light! AN EPITAPH ON THE MARCHIONESS OF WINCHESTER'. The honour'd wife of Winchester, She was the wife of John marquis of Winchester, a conspicuous loyalist in the reign of king Charles the first, whose magnificent house or castle of Basing in Hampshire withstood an obstinate siege of two years against the rebels, and when taken was levelled to the ground, be. cause in every window was flourished. Aymer Loyaute. Added to her noble birth, To house with darkness, and with death. Her high birth, and her graces sweet, And now with second hope she goes, So have I seen some tender slip, Gentle lady, may thy grave And some flowers, and some bays, Whilst thou, bright saint, high sitst in glory, Who, after years of barrenness, And at her next birth, much like thee, |