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Trampling the unshower'd grass with lowings loud :
Nought but profoundest Hell can be his shroud;
The rays of Bethlehem blind his dusky eyn;
XXVI. So when the sun in bed, Curtain’d with cloudy red,
230 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 Fayes
235 Fly after the night-Iteeds, leaving their moon-lov'd
Time is our tedious fong should here have ending: Heaven's youngest teemed star
240 Hath fix'd her polish'd car,
Her sleeping Lord with handmaid lamp attending: And all about the courtly stable Bright-harnest Angels fit in order ferviceable.
Wherewith the stage of air and carth did ring,
5 In wintry folftice like the Morten'd light Soon swallow'd up in dark and long out-living night.
II. For now to sorrow must I tune my song, And set my harp to notes of faddest woe, Which on our dearest Lord did seize ere long, Dangers, and snares, and wrongs, and worse than so, Which he for us did freely undergo :
Most perfect Hero, try'd in heaviest plight Of labors huge and hard, too hard for human wight!
the stroke of death he must abide, Then lies him meekly down fast by his brethren's side.
These latest scenes confine my roving verse,
Me softer airs befit, and softer strings
The leaves should all be black whereon I write, And letters where my tears have walli'd a wannish white.
To bear me where the towers of Salem stood,
There doth my soul in holy vision sit
hath found that sad fepulchral rock
For sure so well instructed are my tears,
Might think th' infection of my sorrows loud 55 Had got a race of mourners on some pregnant cloud.
This subject the Author finding to be above the years
he had, when he wrote it, and nothing satisfied with what was begun, left it unfinish'd.
TLY envious Time, till thou run out thy race,
Call on the lazy leaden-stepping hours, Whose speed is but the heavy plummet's pace; And glut thyself with what thy womb devours, Which is no more than what is false and vain,
5 And merely mortal dross; So little is our loss, So little is thy gain. For when as each thing bad thou hast intomb’d, And last of all thy greedy self consum’d, Then long Eternity fall greet our bliss With an individual kiss; And Joy shall overtake us as a flood, When every thing that is sincerely good And perfectly divine,
15 With truth, and peace, and love, fall ever shine About the supreme throne Of him, t' whose happy-making fight alone When once our heav’nly-guided foul shall climb, Then all this earthy grossness quit, “Attir'd with stars, we shall for ever sit, Triumphing over Death, and Chance, and thee, O