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No nightly trance, or breathed fpell
The lonely mountains o'er,
And the refounding shore,
A voice of weeping heard and loud lament ; From haunted fpring, and dale
Edg'd with poplar pale,
The parting Genius is with fighing fent : With flowr-inwoven treffes torn
The Nymphs in twilight fhade of tangled thickets
In confecrated earth,
And on the holy hearth,
TheLars,and Lemures moan with midnight plaint;
In urns, and altars round,
A drear and dying found
Affrights the Flamens at their fervice quaint; And the chill marble feems to sweat,
While each peculiar Pow'r forgoes his wonted feat. XXII.
Peor and Baälim
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 shine; The Lybic Hammon fhrinks his horn,
In vain the Tyrian maids their wounded Thammuz
And fullen Moloch fled,
His burning idol all of blackeft 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,
Isis and Orus, and the dog Anubis haste.
Nor is Ofiris seen
In Memphian grove or green,
Trampling the unfhowr'd grass 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.220 XXV.
He feels from Juda's land
The dreaded 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 fhow his Godhead true,
Can in his fwadling bands controll the damned crew.
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 several 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 reft,
Time is our tedious fong fhould here have ending: Heav'n's youngest teemed ftar
Hath fix'd her polish'd car,
Her fleeping Lord with handmaid lamp attending: And all about the courtly stable
Bright-harnest Angels fit in order serviceable.
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 to 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.
For now to forrow muft I tune my song,
Moft perfect Hero, try'd in heaviest plight Of labors huge and hard, too hard for human wight!
He fov'ran Prieft ftooping his regal head,
His ftarry front low-rooft beneath the skies;
Yet more; the ftroke of death he must abide, zo Then lies him meekly down faft by his brethrens fide.
These latest scenes confine my roving verse,
Of lute, or viol ftill, more apt for mournful things.
Befriend me Night, beft patronefs of grief,
That Heav'n and Earth are color'd with my woe; My forrows are too dark for day to know:
The leaves fhould all be black whereon I write, 34 And letters where my tears have wash'd a wannish
[white. See, fee the chariot, and those rushing wheels, That whirl'd the Prophet up at Chebar flood, My spirit fome tranfporting Cherub feels, To bear me where the tow'rs of Salem stood, Once glorious tow'rs, now funk in guiltless blood; 40 There doth my foul in holy vision fit
In pensive trance, and anguish, and ecstatic fit.
Mine eye hath found that fad fepulchral rock
For fure fo well inftructed are my tears,
Or fhould I thence hurried on viewless wing,
Might think th' infection of my forrows loud 55 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.
LY envious Time, till thou run out thy race, Call on the lazy leaden-ftepping hours, Whofe fpeed is but the heavy plummet's pace; And glut thyfelf with what thy womb, devours, Which is no more than what is falfe and vain, And merely mortal drofs;
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 blifs
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, shali ever fhine
About the fupreme throne