XX. The lonely mountains o'er, And the resounding shore, 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. XXI. In consecrated earth, And on the holy hearth, 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 foregoes his wonted seat. Peor and Baälim XXII. 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 Lybic Hammon shrinks his horn, 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. Nor is Osiris seen XXIV. 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 timbrell'd anthems dark The sable-stolod sorcerers bear his worshipp'd 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 beside, Longer dare abide, Not Typhon huge ending in snaky twine; Our Babe, to show 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 Heaven's youngest-teemed star 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. THE PASSION. I. EREWHILE of music, and ethereal mirth, But headlong joy is ever on the wing, In wintry solstice like the shorten'd light, Soon swallow'd up in dark and long outliving night. II. For now to sorrow must I tune my song, And set my harp to notes of saddest woe, Which on our dearest Lord did seize ere long, Dangers, and snares, and wrongs, and worse than so, Most perfect Hero, tried in heaviest plight Of labours huge and hard, too hard for human wight! Y III. He, sovereign priest, stooping his regal head, His starry front low-roof'd beneath the skies: Yet more; the stroke of death he must abide, Then lies him meekly down fast by his brethren's side. IV. These latest scenes confine my roving verse, Of lute, or viol still, more apt for mournful things. V. Befriend me, night, best patroness of grief, That heaven and earth are colour'd with my woe; My sorrows are too dark for day to know: The leaves should all be black whereon I write, And letters, where my tears have wash'd, a wannish white. VI. See, see the chariot, and those rushing wheels, In pensive trance, and anguish, and ecstatic fit VII. Mine eye hath found that sad sepulchral rock For sure so well instructed are my tears, VIII. Or should I thence, hurried on viewless wing, Might think the infection of my sorrows loud 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 unfinished ON TIME. FLY, envious Time, till thou run out thy race, So little is our loss, So little is thy gain. For when as each thing bad thou hast entomb'd, Then long Eternity shall greet our bliss With an individual kiss; And joy shall overtake us as a flood, When everything that is sincerely good, And perfectly divine, With truth, and peace, and love, shall ever shine About the supreme throne Of him, to whose happy-making sight alone When once our heavenly-guided soul shall climb, Then, all this earthly grossness quit, Attired with stars, we shall for ever sit, Triumphing over death, and chance, and thee, O Time! UPON THE CIRCUMCISION. YE flaming powers, and winged warriors bright, Burn in your sighs, and borrow Seas wept from our deep sorrow: He, who with all heaven's heraldry whilere Enter'd the world, now bleeds to give us ease; Sore doth begin His infancy to seize ! O more exceeding love, or law more just? Just law indeed, but more exceeding love For we, by rightful doom remediless, Were lost in death, till he that dwelt above And that great covenant, which we still transgress, And the full wrath beside Of vengeful justice bore for our excess, And seals obedience first, with wounding smart, Huge pangs and strong Will pierce more near his heart. AT A SOLEMN MUSIC. BLEST pair of syrens, pledges of heaven's joy, With saintly shout, and solemn jubilee, Singing everlastingly : That we on earth, with undiscording voice, May rightly answer that melodious noise; As once we did, till disproportion'd sin Jarr'd against nature's chime, and with harsh din To their great Lord, whose love their motion sway'd In perfect diapason, whilst they stood In first obedience, and their state of good. Oh, may we soon again renew that song, And keep in tune with heaven, till God, ere long To his celestial concert us unite, To live with him, and sing in endless morn of light! AN EPITAPH ON THE MARCHIONESS OF WINCHESTER. THIS rich marble doth inter The honour'd wife of Winchester, A viscount's daughter, an earl's heir, |