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No nightly trance, or breathed spell
179 Inspires the pale-ey*d priest from the prophetic cell.
A voice of weeping heard and loud lament;
185 The parting Genius is with sighing sent : With flowr-inwoven tresses torn
(mourn. The Nymphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets
Affrights the Flamens at their service quaint ; And the chill marble seems to sweat,
195 While each peculiar Pow'r forgoes his wonted seat.
With that twice batter'd God of Palestine ;
Now sits not girt with tapers holy shine ;
XXIII. And sullen Moloch fled,
205 Hath left in Thadows dread
His burning idol all of blackest hue ;
In dismal dance about the furnace blue;
Trampling the unfhowr'd grass with lowings loud : Nor çan he be at rest
216 Within his facred chest,
Nought but profoundeft Hell can be his Throud; In vain with timbrel'd anthems dark The fable-stoled sorcerers bear his worshipt ark. 2 20
The rays of Bethlehem blind his dusky eyn;
XXVI. So when the sun in bed, Curtain'd with cloudy red,
230 Pillows his chin upon an orient wave, The flocking shadows pale Troop to thinfernal jail,
Each fetter'd ghost slips to his several grave, And the yellow-skirted Fayes
235 Fly after the night-steeds, leaving their moon-lov'd XXVII.
[maze. Rut see the Virgin bleft Hath laid her Babe to rest,
Tirne is our tedious song should here have ending: Heav'n's youngest teemed star
240 Hath fix'd her polith'd car,
Her sleeping Lord with handmaid lamp attending: And all about the courtly stable Bright-harnest Àngels fit in order serviceable.
Wherewith the stage of air and earth did ring,
5 In wintry folitice like the shorten d light Soon swallow'd ypin dark and long out-living night.
II. For now to forrow must I tune my song, And fet my harp to notes of saddest woe, Which on our dearest Lord did seise ere long, Dangers, and fnares, and wrongs, and worse than so, Which he for us did freely undergo :
Most perfe&t Hero, try'd in heaviest plight Of labors huge and hard, too hard for human wight!
III. He fov'ran Priest stooping his regal head, "S That dropt with eqorous 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.
Me softer airs befit, and softer strings
The leaves should all be black whereon I write, 34
There doth my foul in holy vision sit
For sure to well instructed are my tears,
VIII. Or should I thence hurried on viewless wing, $0 Take up a weeping on the mountains wild, The gentle neighbourhood of grove and spring Would soon unbosom all their
echoes mild, And I (for grief is easily beguild)
Might think th' infection of my sorrows loud 55 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 unfinish'd.
'L Y envious Time, till thou run out thy race,
Call on the lazy leaden-ftepping hours, Whose speed is but the heavy plummet’s pace ; And glut thyself with what thy womb. devours, Which is no more than what is false and vain, 5 And merely mortal dross ; So little is our loss, So little is thy gain. For when as each thing bad thou hast intomb’d, And last of all thy greedy self confum'd, Then long Eternity shall greet our bliss With an individual kiss ; And Joy Thall overtake us as a flood, When every thing that is fincerely good And perfectly divine,
15 With truth, and peace, and love, fali ever shine About the supreme throne