And the well balanc'd world on hinges hung, And cast the dark foundations deep, And bid the weltring waves their oozy channel keep. XIII. Ring out ye cryftal spheres, Once blefs our human ears, (If ye have power to touch our fenfes so) And let filver chime your Move in melodious time; And let the base of heav'n's deep organ blow; And with your ninefold harmony Make up full confort to th'angelic fymphony. For if fuch holy fong Enwrap our fancy long, XIV. Time will run back, and fetch the age of gold, And fpeckl'd vanity Will ficken foon and die, And leprous fin will melt from earthly mould, And hell itfelf will pass away, And leave her dolorous manfion to the peering day. Yea truth and justice then Will down return to men, XV.. Orb'd in a rain-bow, and like glories wearing: Mercy will fit between, Thron'd in celeftial fheen, With radiant feet the tiffu'd clouds down fteering, And heav'n, as at fome festival, Will open wide the gates of her high palace hall. But wifeft fate fays no, This must not yet be fo, XVI. The babe lyes yet in fimiling infancy, That on the bitter cross Muft redeem our lofs; So both himself and us to glorify: Yet first, to those the chain'd in fleep, The wakeful trump of doom must thunder thro' the deep. With fuch a horrid clang XVII. While the red fire, and finouldring clouds out-brake: The aged earth agaft, With terror of that blast, Shall from the surface of the center shake; When at the world's last feffion, The dreadful Judge in middle air fhall spread his throne, XVIII. And then at laft 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 caft his ufurped fway, And wroth to see his kingdom fail, Swinges the fcaly horrors of his folded tail. The oracles are dumb, XIX. No voice or hideous humm Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving, Can no more divine, With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving. Inspires the pale-ey'd priest from the prophetic cell The lonely mountains o'er, And the refounding fhore, A voice of weeping heard, and loud lament; From haunted spring, and dale, Edg'd with poplar pale, The parting genius is with fighing fent; With flow'r-inwov'n treffes torn The nymphs in twilight fhade of tangled thickets mourn In confecrated earth, And on the holy hearth, XXI. The Lares and Lemures moan with midnight plaint; In urns, and altars round, A drear and dying found Affrights the Flamens at their fervice quaint; And the chill marble feems to fweat, While each peculiar power forgoes his wonted feat. T3 XXII. Peor Peor and Baalim Forfake their temples dim, XXII. With that twice batter'd god of Palestine z And mooned Afhtaroth, Heav'n's queen and mother both, Now fits not girt with tapers holy fhine; The Lybic Hammon fhrinks his horn; In vain the Tyrian maids their wounded Thammuz mourn. XXIII. And fullen Moloch, fled, Hath left in fhadows dred His burning idol all of blackeft hue; In vain, with fymbols ring, They call the grifly king, In difinal dance about the furnace blue; The brutish gods of Nile as fast, jis and Orus, and the dog Anubis, hafte. Nor is Ofiris feen XXIV. In Memphian grove, or green, Trampling the unfhower'd grafs with lowings loud: Nor can he be at reft Within his facred cheft, Naught but profoundest hell can be his fhroud; The fable-ftoled forcerers bear his worship'd ark. He feels from Judah's land The dreaded infant's hand, The rays of Bethlehem blind his dusky eyn; Nor all the gods befide, Longer dare abide, Not Typhon huge ending in fnaky twine: Our babe, to fhew his Godhead true, Can in his fwadling bands controul the damned crew. So when the fun in bed, Curtain'd with cloudy red, XXVI. Pillows his chin upon an orient wave, The flocking fhadows pale, Troop to th' infernal jail,, Each Each fetter'd ghoft flips to his feveral grave, And the yellow-skirted fayes Fly after the night-fteeds, leaving their moon-lov'd maze.. XXVII. But fee the virgin bleft Hath laid her babe to rest, Time is our tedious fong should here have ending: Heav'n's youngest teemed star Hath fixt her polish'd car, Her fleeping lord with handmaid lamp attending: And all about the courtly stable, Bright-harneft angels fit in order serviceable. The PASSION. By Mr. Miltom.. I. 'RE while of mufic, and ethereal mirth, And joyous news of heav'nly infant's birth, In wintry folftice like the fhorten'd light, II. For now to forrow muft Itune my fong, And let my harp to notes of faddeft woe, Which on our dearest. Lord did seize e're long, Moft perfect Hero, try'd in heaviest plight Of labours huge and hard, too hard for human wight. III. He fov'reign priest stooping his regal head That dropt with odorous oil down his fair eyes, His ftarry front low-rooft beneath the skies; Yet Yet more; the ftroke of death he must abide, Then lays him meekly down fast by his brethrens fide. IV. These latter scenes confine my roving verse, Of lute, or viol still more apt for mournful things. V. Befriend me night, best patronefs of grief, That heav'n and earth are colour'd with my woe; The leaves fhould all be black whereon I write, See, see the chariot, and thofe rushing wheels, In penfive trance, and anguish, and ecftatic fit. VII. Mine eye hath found that fad fepulchral rock For fure fo well instructed are my tears, Or fhould I thence, hurry'd on viewless wing, |