Poetical Works | Page 9

pass away
And leave her dolorous mansions to the peering day.
140
XV
Yea Truth, and Justice then
Will down return to men,
Th'enameld
Arras of the Rain-bow wearing,
And Mercy set between
Thron'd in
Celestiall sheen,
With radiant feet the tissued clouds down stearing,

And Heav'n as at som festivall,
Will open wide the gates of her
high Palace Hall.
XVI
But wisest Fate sayes no,
This must not yet be so, 150 The Babe lies
yet in smiling Infancy,
That on the bitter cross
Must redeem our
loss;
So both himself and us to glorifie:
Yet first to those ychain'd
in sleep,
The Wakeful trump of doom must thunder through the deep,
XVII
With such a horrid clang
As on Mount Sinai rang
While the red fire,
and smouldring clouds out brake:
The aged Earth agast 160 With
terrour of that blast,
Shall from the surface to the center shake;

When at the worlds last session,
The dreadfull Judge in middle Air
shall spread his throne.

XVIII
And then at last our bliss
Full and perfect is,
But now begins; for
from this happy day
Th'old Dragon under ground
In straiter limits
bound,
Not half so far casts his usurped sway, 170 And wrath to see
his Kingdom fail,
Swindges the scaly Horrour of his foulded tail.
XIX
The Oracles are dumm,
No voice or hideous humm
Runs through
the arched roof in words deceiving.
Apollo from his shrine
Can no
more divine,
With hollow shreik the steep of Delphos leaving.
No
nightly trance, or breathed spell,
Inspire's the pale-ey'd Priest from
the prophetic cell. 180
XX
The lonely mountains o're,
And the resounding shore,
A voice of
weeping heard, and loud lament;
>From haunted spring, and dale

Edg'd with poplar pale
The parting Genius is with sighing sent,

With flowre-inwov'n tresses torn
The Nimphs in twilight shade of
tangled thickets mourn.
XXI
In consecrated Earth,
And on the holy Hearth, 190 The Lars, and
Lemures moan with midnight plaint,
In Urns, and Altars round,
A
drear, and dying sound
Affrights the Flamins at their service quaint;

And the chill Marble seems to sweat,
While each peculiar power
forgoes his wonted seat.
XXII
Peor, and Baalim,
Forsake their Temples dim,
With that
twise-batter'd god of Palestine,
And mooned Ashtaroth, 200 Heav'ns
Queen and Mother both,
Now sits not girt with Tapers holy shine,


The Libyc Hammon shrinks his horn,
In vain the Tyrian Maids their
wounded Thamuz mourn.
XXIII
And sullen Moloch fled,
Hath left in shadows dred,
His burning
Idol all of blackest hue,
In vain with Cymbals ring,
They call the
grisly king,
In dismall dance about the furnace Blue; 210 And Brutish
gods of Nile as fast,
lsis and Orus, and the Dog Anubis hast.
THE PASSION.
I
ERE-while of Musick, and Ethereal mirth,
Wherwith the stage of Ayr
and Earth did ring,
And joyous news of heav'nly Infants birth,
My
muse with Angels did divide to sing;
But headlong joy is ever on the
wing,
In Wintry solstice like the shortn'd light
Soon swallow'd up in
dark and long out-living night.
II
For now to sorrow must I tune my song,
And set my Harpe to notes
of saddest wo,
Which on our dearest Lord did sease er'e long,

Dangers, and snares, and wrongs, and worse then so, 10 Which he for
us did freely undergo.
Most perfect Heroe, try'd in heaviest plight

Of labours huge and hard, too hard for human wight.
III
He sov'ran Priest stooping his regall 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!
Yet more; the stroke of death he must abide, 20 Then lies
him meekly down fast by his Brethrens side.

IV
These latter scenes confine my roving vers,
To this Horizon is my
Phoebus bound,
His Godlike acts, and his temptations fierce,
And
former sufferings other where are found;
Loud o're the rest Cremona's
Trump doth sound;
Me softer airs befit, and softer strings
Of Lute,
or Viol still, more apt for mournful things.
Note: 22 latter] latest 1673.
V
Befriend me night best Patroness of grief,
Over the Pole thy thickest
mantle throw, 30 And work my flatterd fancy to belief,
That Heav'n
and Earth are colour'd with my wo;
My sorrows are too dark for day
to know:
The leaves should all be black wheron I write,
And letters
where my tears have washt a wannish white.
VI
See see the Chariot, and those rushing wheels,
That whirl'd the
Prophet up at Chebar flood,
My spirit som transporting Cherub feels,

To bear me where the Towers of Salem stood,
Once glorious
Towers, now sunk in guiltles blood; 40 There doth my soul in holy
vision sit
In pensive trance, and anguish, and ecstatick fit.
VII
Mine eye hath found that sad Sepulchral rock
That was the Casket of
Heav'ns richest store,
And here though grief my feeble hands up-lock,

Yet on the softned Quarry would I score
My plaining vers as lively
as before;
For sure so well instructed are my tears,
They would fitly
fall in order'd Characters.
VIII

I thence hurried on viewles wing, 50 Take up a weeping on the
Mountains wilde,
The gentle neighbourhood of grove and spring

Would soon unboosom all their Echoes milde,
And I (for grief is