XIII. Ring out, ye crystal spheres ! If ye have power to touch our senses so; Move in melodious time; And let the bass of heaven's deep organ blow ; And with your ninefold harmony Make up full consort to the angelic symphony. 139 XIV. For, if such holy song Time will run back and fetch the Age of Gold; And speckled Vanity Will sicken soon and die, And leprous Sin will melt from earthly mould; And Hell itself will pass away, And leave her dolorous mansions to the peering day. 140 XV. Yea, Truth and Justice then Will down return to men, Orbed in a rainbow; and, like glories wearing, Mercy will sit between, Throned in celestial sheen, With radiant feet the tissued clouds down steering; And Heaven, as at some festival, Will open wide the gates of her high palace-hall. XVI. But wisest Fate says No, The Babe yet lies in smiling infancy Must redeem our loss, So both himself and us to glorify : Yet first, to those ychained in sleep, 150 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 smouldering clouds outbrake: The aged Earth, aghast With terror of that blast, Shall from the surface to the centre shake, When, at the world's last session, 160 The dreadful 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 The Old Dragon under ground, In straiter limits bound, Not half so far casts his usurpèd sway, And, wroth to see his kingdom fail, Swinges the scaly horror of his folded tail. XIX. The Oracles are dumb; No voice or hideous hum Runs through the archèd roof in words deceiving. Can no more divine, With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving. No nightly trance, or breathèd spell, Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell. XX. The lonely mountains o'er, And the resounding shore, A voice of weeping heard and loud lament; From haunted spring, and dale Edged with poplar pale, The parting Genius is with sighing sent; With flower-inwoven tresses torn The Nymphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets mourn. 170 180 In consecrated earth, XXI. And on the holy hearth, The Lars and Lemures moan with midnight plaint, In urns, and altars round, A drear and dying sound Affrights the flamens at their service quaint; And the chill marble seems to sweat, While each peculiar power forgoes his wonted seat. XXII. 190 Peor and Baälim Forsake their temples dim, With that twice-battered god of Palestine ; Heaven's queen and mother both, Now sits not girt with tapers' holy shine : The Libyc Hammon shrinks his horn; 200 In vain the Tyrian maids their wounded Thammuz mourn. XXIII. And sullen Moloch, fled, Hath left in shadows dread His burning idol all of blackest hue; In vain with cymbals' ring They call the grisly king, In dismal dance about the furnace blue; The brutish gods of Nile as fast, Isis, and Orus, and the dog Anubis, haste XXIV. Nor is Osiris seen In Memphian grove or green, Trampling the unshowered grass with lowings loud; Within his sacred chest ; Nought but profoundest. Hell can be his shroud; In vain, with timbreled anthems dark, The sable-stolèd sorcerers bear his worshiped ark. 210 220 XXV. He feels from Juda's land The dreaded Infant's hand The rays of Bethlehem blind his dusky eyn; Longer dare abide, Not Typhon huge ending in snaky twine : Our Babe, to show his Godhead true, Can in his swaddling bands control the damnèd crew. : XXVI. So, when the sun in bed, Pillows his chin upon an orient wave, The flocking shadows pale Troop to the infernal jail, Each fettered ghost slips to his several grave, And the yellow-skirted fays Fly after the night-steeds, leaving their moon-loved maze, XXVII. But see! the Virgin blest Hath laid her Babe to rest. Time is our tedious song should here have ending: Heaven's youngest-teemèd star Hath fixed her polished car, Her sleeping Lord with handmaid lamp attending; And all about the courtly stable Bright-harnessed Angels sit in order serviceable. UPON THE CIRCUMCISION. YE flaming Powers, and wingèd Warriors bright, 230 240 Burn in your sighs, and borrow Seas wept from our deep sorrow. He who with all Heaven's heraldry whilere Sore doth begin His infancy to seize! O more exceeding love, or law more just? Were lost in death, till he, that dwelt above And that great covenant which we still transgress And the full wrath beside Of vengeful justice bore for our excess, And seals obedience first with wounding smart Huge pangs and strong Will pierce more near his heart. 1 THE PASSION. I. EREWHILE of music, and ethereal mirth, But headlong joy is ever on the wing, In wintry solstice like the shortened light Soon swallowed up in dark and long outliving nigh. II. For now to sorrow must I tune my song, And set my harp to notes of saddest woe, Which on our dearest Lord did seize ere long, 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! IO |