Such musick (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-ballanc't world on hinges hung, And cast the dark foundations deep, And bid the weltring waves their oozy channel keep. Ring out, ye crystall sphears; Once bless our humane ears XIII. (If ye have power to touch our senses so), And let your silver chime 120 125 Move in melodious time, And let the base of Heav'ns deep organ blow, 130 And with your ninefold harmony Make up full consort to th' angelike symphony. For, if such holy song XIV. Enwrap our fancy long, Time will run back, and fetch the age of Gold; And speckl'd Vanity 135 Will sicken soon and die, And leprous sin will melt from earthly mould; And Hell it self 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 set between, 140 Thron'd in celestiall sheen, 145 With radiant feet the tissued clouds down stearing; And Heav'n, as at som festivall, Will open wide the gates of her high palace haii. Yet first to those ychain'd in sleep The wakefull trump of doom must thunder through the deep 155 With such a horrid clang As on Mount Sinai rang, XVII. While the red fire and smouldring clouds out brake; The aged Earth, agast, With terrour of that blast, Shall from the surface to the center shake; When at the worlds last session The dreadfull Judge in middle air shall spread his throne. 1бо 165 170 The oracles are dumm; No voice or hideous humm Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving. Apollo from his shrine 175 Can no more divine, With hollow shreik the steep of Delphos leaving. No nightly trance, or breathed spell, Inspires the pale-ey'd Priest from the prophetic cell. 180 The lonely mountains o're And the resounding shore XX. A voice of weeping heard and loud lament; From haunted spring and dale Edg'd with poplar pale The parting Genius is with sighing sent; With flowre-inwov'n tresses torn The nimphs 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 Flamins at their service quaint; And the chill marble seems to sweat, While each peculiar power forgoes his wonted seat. XXII. Peor and Baälim Forsake their temples dim, With that twise batter'd god of Palestine; And mooned Ashtaroth, Heav'ns queen and mother both, Now sits not girt with tapers holy shine; The Lybic Hammon shrinks his horn; In vain the Tyrian maids their wounded Thamuz mourn ; XXIII. And sullen Moloch, fled, Hath left in shadows dred His burning idol all of blackest hue; In vain with cymbals ring They call the grisly King In dismall dance about the furnace blue; 185 190 195 200 205 210 XXIV. Nor is Osiris seen In Memphian grove or green Trampling the unshowr'd grass with lowings loud, Nor can he be at rest Within his sacred chest ; Naught but profoundest hell can be his shroud; In vain with timbrel'd anthems dark The sable-stoled sorcerers bear his worshipt ark. He feels from Juda's land The dredded Infant's hand; XXV. The rayes of Bethlehem blind his dusky eyn; Nor all the gods beside Longer dare abide, Not Typhon huge ending in snaky twine: Our Babe, to show his Godhead true, Can in his swadling bands controul the damned crew. So, when the Sun in bed XXVI. 215 220 225 Fly after the night-steeds, leaving their moon-lov'd maze. XXVII. But see the Virgin blest Hath laid her Babe to rest; Time is our tedious song should here have ending; Heav'ns youngest teemed star 240 Hath fixt her polished car, Her sleeping Lord with handmaid lamp attending; And all about the courtly stable Bright-harnessed angels sit in order serviceable. L'ALLEGRO. HENCE, loathed Melancholy, Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight born In Stygian cave forlorn 'Mongst horrid shapes and shreiks and sights unholy; Find out som uncouth cell, Wher brooding Darknes spreads his jealous wings, And the night-raven sings; There, under ebon shades and low-brow'd rocks, As ragged as thy locks, In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell. But com, thou Goddess fair and free, The frolick wind that breathes the spring, Zephir with Aurora playing As he met her once a Maying, 5 10 15 20 |