A drear and dying sound Affrights the Flamens at their service quaint; And the chill marble seems to sweat, Which each peculiar pow'r foregoes his wonted seat. Peor and Baälim Forsake their temples dim, With that twice-batter'd God of Palestine; And mooned Ashtaroth, Heav'ns queen and mother both, Now sits not girt with tapers' holy shine; Tho Libyc Hammon shrinks his horn, 195 200 In vain the Tyrian maids their wounded Thammuz mourn. The sable-stoled sorcerers bear his worshipt ark. Isis, and Orus, and the dog Anubis, Nor is Osiris seen In Memphian grove or green, Trampling the unshow'r'd grass with lowings loud: 215 Nor can he be at rest Within his sacred chest; Naught but profoundest hell can be his shroud; In vain with timbrell'd anthems dark He feels from Juda's land The dreaded Infant's hand, 220 The rays of Bethlehem blind his dusky eyn; Nor all the gods beside Longer dare abide, 225 Nor Typhon huge ending in snaky twine: Our Babe, to show his Godhead true, Can in his swaddling bands control the damned crew. And the yellow-skirted Fayes 235 Fly after the night-steeds, leaving their moon-lov'd maze. But see, the Virgin blest Hath laid her Babe to rest; Time is, our tedious song should here have ending; 240 Heav'n's youngest-teemed star Hath fix'd her polish'd car, Her sleeping Lord with handmaid lamp attending: And all about the courtly stable Bright-harness'd angels sit in order serviceable. THE PASSION. EREWHILE of music, and ethereal mirth, In wintry solstice like the shorten'd light, Soon swallow'd up in dark and long out-living night. Which on our dearest Lord did seize ere long, 5 And set my harp to notes of saddest woe, 10 Dangers, and snares, and wrongs, and worse than so, Most perfect Hero, tried in heaviest plight Of labours huge and hard, too hard for human wight! He, sovran priest, stooping his regal head, 15 That dropt with odorous oil down his fair eyes, Poor fleshy 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 brethren's side. These latest scenes confine my roving verse; And former sufferings, other where are found; 25 Of lute, or viol still, more apt for mournful things. Befriend me, Night, best patroness of grief; Over the pole thy thickest mantle throw, 30 And work my flatter'd fancy to belief, That heav'n and earth are colour'd with my woe; My sorrows are too dark for day to know: The leaves should all be black whereon I write, And letters, where my tears have wash'd, a wannish See, see the chariot, and those rushing wheels, white, 35 My spirit some transporting Cherub feels, To bear me where the tow'rs of Salem stood, 40 In pensive trance, and anguish, and ecstatic fit. And here though grief my feeble hands up-lock, 45 For sure so well instructed are my tears, Or should I thence hurried on viewless wing 55 Might think th' infection of my sorrows loud Had got a race of mourners on some pregnant cloud. This subject the author finding to be above the years he had, when he wrote it, and nothing satisfied with what was begun, left it unfinished. UPON THE CIRCUMCISION. YE flaming pow'rs, and winged warriors bright, 5 Burn in your sighs, and borrow Seas wept from our deep sorrow: He, who with all heav'n's heraldry whilere 10 Enter'd the world, now bleeds to give us ease; Sore doth begin His infancy to seize! O more exceeding love, or law more just? 15 Just law indeed, but more exceeding love! For we, by rightful doom remediless, Were lost in death, till he, that dwelt above High-thron'd in secret bliss, for us frail dust 20 And that great covenant which we still transgress Entirely satisfied; And the full wrath beside O FAIREST flow'r, no sooner blown but blasted, That did thy cheek envermeil, thought to kiss, A But kill'd, alas! and then bewail'd his fatal bliss. For since grim Aquilo, his charioteer, By boist'rous rape th' Athenian damsel got, 10 Which, 'mongst the wanton gods, a foul reproach was held. 15 Through middle empire of the freezing air He wander'd long, till thee he spied from far; There ended was his quest, there ceas'd his care: 20 Yet art thou not inglorious in thy fate; For so Apollo, with unweeting hand, Young Hyacinth, born on Eurotas' strand, 25 Young Hyacinth, the pride of Spartan land; But then transform'd him to a purple flower: Alack, that so to change thee Winter had no power! Yet can I not persuade me thou art dead, Or that thy corse corrupts in earth's dark womb, 30 Or that thy beauties lie in wormy bed, 35 Oh no! for something in thy face did shine Wert thou some star which from the ruin'd roof Of sheeny heav'n, and thou, some goddess fled, 40 45 Or wert thou that just maid, who once before 50 And cam'st again to visit us once more? Or wert thou that sweet-smiling youth? Or that crown'd matron sage, white-robed Truth? 55 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 heav'n aspire? 60 65 To stand 'twixt us and our deserved smart? But thou canst best perform that office where thou art. 70 Then thou, the mother of so sweet a child, Her false imagin'd loss cease to lament, And wisely learn to curb thy sorrows wild; Think what a present thou to God hast sent, And render him with patience what he lent; This if thou do, he will an offspring give, That till the world's last end shall make thy name to live. ON TIME. FLY, envious Time, till thou run out thy race; So little is our loss, So little is thy gain! For when as each thing bad thou hast entomb'd, With an individual kiss; And Joy shall overtake us as a flood, When every thing that is sincerely good 75 5 10 Eternety 15 And perfectly divine, With Truth, and Peace, and Love, shall ever shine About the supreme throne Of Him, t' whose happy-making sight alone When once our heav'nly-guided soul shall clime, Attir'd with stars, we shall for ever sit, AT A SOLEMN MUSIC. BLEST pair of Sirens, pledges of heav'n's joy, 20 |