When such music sweet Their hearts and ears did greet As never was by mortal finger strook, Divinely-warbled voice Answering the stringed noise, As all their souls in blissful rapture took: The air, such pleasure loth to lose, With thousand echoes still prolongs each heavenly close. 100 X. Nature, that heard such sound Beneath the hollow round Of Cynthia's seat, the airy region thrilling, Now was almost won To think her part was done, And that her reign had here its last fulfilling: She knew such harmony alone Could hold all Heaven and Earth in happier union. XI. At last surrounds their sight A globe of circular light, That with long beams the shamefaced Night array'd; The helmed Cherubim And sworded Seraphim Are seen in glittering ranks with wings display'd, Harping in loud and solemn quire With unexpressive notes to Heaven's new-born Heir. Such music (as 'tis said) Before was never made, XII. But when of old the Sons of Morning sung, While the Creator great His constellations set, And the well-balanced world on hinges hung; And cast the dark foundations deep, And bid the weltering waves their oozy channel keep. ΠΙΟ 120 XIII. Ring out, ye crystal spheres, Once bless our human ears, (If ye have power to touch our senses so); And let your silver chime 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. For, if such holy song Enwrap our fancy long, XIV. 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. XV. Yea, Truth and Justice then Will down return to men, Orb'd 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. But wisest Fate says No, This must not yet be so; XVI. The Babe lies yet in smiling infancy That on the bitter cross Must redeem our loss, So both himself and us to glorify: Yet first to those ychain'd in sleep, 130 140 150 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 out brake: The aged Earth, agast 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 usurped sway; And, wroth to see his kingdom fail, Swindges the scaly horror of his folded tail. 170 The oracles are dumb; XIX. No voice or hideous hum Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving. Apollo from his shrine 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. 180 The lonely mountains o'er, And the resounding shore, XX. 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. In consecrated earth, And on the holy hearth, XXI. 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-batter'd god of Palestine; And mooned Ashtaroth, 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. And sullen Moloch, fled, XXIII. 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. 210 XXIV. Nor is Osiris seen In Memphian grove or green, Trampling the unshower'd grass with lowings loud; Nor can he be at rest Within his sacred chest; Nought but profoundest Hell can be his shroud: In vain with timbrel'd anthems dark The sable-stolèd sorcerers bear his worshipp'd ark. 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 shew his Godhead true, Can in his swaddling bands control the damned crew. XXVI. So, when the sun in bed, Curtain'd with cloudy red, Pillows his chin upon an orient wave, The flocking shadows pale Troop to the infernal jail; Each fetter'd 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: 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. M. 230 240 |