With that twice-batter'd God of Palestine; And mooned Ashtaroth, Heaven's queen and mother both, Now sits not girt with tapers' holy shine; The Libyck Hammon shrinks his horn, In vain the Tyrian maids their wounded Thammuz mourn. His burning idol all of blackest hue; In vain with cymbals' ring They call the grisly king, In dismal dance about the furnace blue : |