Nor is Ofiris feen XXIV. In Memphian grove or green, Trampling the unfhower'd grass with lowings loud : Nor can he be at reft Within his facred cheft, Nought but profoundeft Hell can be his fhroud; In vain with timbrel'd anthems dark The fable-ftoled forcerers bear his worshipt ark. XXV. He feels from Juda'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 fhow his Godhead true, 220 225 Can in his fwadling-bands controll the damned crew. Fly after the night-fteeds, leaving their moon-lov`d maze. XXVII. But But fee the Virgin bleft XXVII. Hath laid her Babe to rest, Time is our tedious fong fhould here have ending: Heaven's youngest teemed star Hath fix'd her polish'd car, 240 Her fleeping Lord with handmaid lamp attending : And all about the courtly stable Bright-harneft Angels fit in order ferviceable. E IV. THE PASSIO N. I. REWHILE of mufic, and ethereal mirth, Wherewith the stage of air and earth did ring, And joyous news of heav'nly Infant's birth, My Mufe with Angels did divide to fing; In wintry folftice like the shorten'd light Soon fwallow'd up in dark and long out-living night. II. For now to forrow muft I tune my fong, And fet my harp to notes of faddeft woe, Which on our dearest Lord did feize ere long, 5 10 Dangers, and fnares, and wrongs, and worse than fo, Which he for us did freely undergo: Moft perfect Hero, try'd in heaviest plight Of labors huge and hard, too hard for human wight! III. He III. He fovran Priest stooping his regal head, 15 His ftarry front low-rooft beneath the skies; O what a mask was there, what a disguise! Yet the stroke of death he must abide, more; Then lies him meekly down faft by his brethren's fide. IV. These latest scenes confine my roving verse, Of lute, or viol ftill, more apt for mournful things. V. Befriend me, Night, beft patroness of grief, And work my flatter'd fancy to belief, That Heav'n and Earth are color'd with my woe; 20 25 30 The leaves fhould all be black whereon I write, And letters where my tears have wafi'd a wannish white. 35 VI. See, fee the chariot, and those rushing wheels, That whirl'd the Prophet up at Chebar flood, My spirit fome tranfporting Cherub feels, To To bear me where the towers of Salem stood, Once glorious tow'rs, now sunk in guiltless blood; 40 There doth my foul in holy vision fit In penfive trance, and anguish, and ecftatic fit. Mine VII. eye hath found that fad fepulchral rock That was the casket of Heav'n's richest store, And here though grief my feeble hands up-lock, 45 Yet on the soften'd quarry would I score My plaining verse as lively as before; For fure fo well inftructed are my tears, That they would fitly fall in order'd characters. VIII. Or should I thence hurried on viewless wing, 50 Might think th' infection of my forrows loud Had got a race of mourners on fome pregnant cloud. 55 This fubject the Author finding to be above the years he had, when he wrote it, and nothing fatisfied with what was begun, left it unfinish'd. V. ΟΝ ΤΙΜΕ. LY envious Time, till thou run out thy race, F'Call on the lazy leaden-ftepping hours, Whofe fpeed is but the heavy plummet's pace; So little is our lofs, So little is thy gain. For when as each thing bad thou haft intomb'd, Then long Eternity fhall greet our blifs With an individual kifs; And Joy shall overtake us as a flood, When every thing that is fincerely good 5 10 And perfectly divine, With truth, and peace, and love, shall ever shine Of him, t' whofe happy-making fight alone When once our heav'nly-guided foul fhall climb, "Attir'd with stars, we fhall for ever fit, 15 20 Triumphing over Death, and Chance, and thee, O Time. VI. UPON |