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IX.
When such music sweet
Their hearts and ears did greet,
As never was by mortal finger ftrook,

95
Divinely-warbled voice
Answering the stringed noise,
As all their fouls in blissful rapture

took : The air, such pleasure loth to lose, With thousand echoes still prolongs each heav'nly close.

X.
Nature that heard such sound,
Beneath the hollow round

Of Cynthia's seat, the aery region thrilling,
Now almost won
To think her part was done,

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And that her reign had here its last fulfilling:
She knew such harmony alone
Could hold all Heav'n and Earth in happier union.

XI. At last furrounds their fight A globe of circular light,

110 That with long beams the shame-fac'd night array'd; The helmed Cherubim, And fworded Seraphim, Are seen in glittering ranks with wings display'd, Harping in loud and folemn quire,

115 With unexpressive notes to Heaven's new-born Heir.

was

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120

XII.
Such music (as 'tis faid)
Before was never made,

But when of old the sons of morning sung,
While the Creator great
His constellations fet,

And the well-balanc'd world on hinges hung,
And caft the dark foundations deep,
And bid the weltering waves their oozy channel keep.

XIII. Ring out, ye crystal Spheres,

125 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 base of Heaven's deep organ blow, 130
And with your ninefold harmony
Make up full confort to th' angelic symphony.

XIV.
For if such holy song
Inwrap our fancy long,

Time will run back, and fetch the age of gold, 135
And speckled Vanity
Will ficken foon 'and die,

And leprous Sin will melt from earthly mold, And Hell itself will pass away, And leave her dolorous manfions to the peering day.

XV. Yea

G 3

XV.
Yea Truth and Justice then
Will down return to men,

Orb'd in a rainbow; and like glories wearing
Mercy will fit between,
Thron'd in celestial sheen,

145
With radiant feet the tissued clouds down steering,
And Heav'n, as at some festival,
Will open wide the gates of her high palace hall.

XVI.
But wiseft Fate says no,
This must not yet be so,

150
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 fleep,

155 The wakeful trųmp of doom muft thunder through the deep,

XVII.
With such a horrid clang
As on mount Sinai fang,

While the red fire and smouldering clouds outbrake: The aged earth aghaft,

169 With terroș of that blaft,

Shall from the surface to the center shake; When at the world's last fefsion, The dreadful Judge in middle air shall spread his throne,

XVIII. And

XVIII. And then at last our bliss

165 Full and perfect is,

But now begins; for from this happy day
Th’old Dragon under ground,
In straiter limits bound,
Not half fo far cafts his usurped fway,

170 And wroth to see his kingdom fail, Swindges the scaly horror of his folded tail.

XIX.
The oracles are dumb,
No voice or hideous hum

Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving.
Apolio from his shrine
Can no more divine,

With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving. No nightly trance, or breathed spell, Inspires the pale-ey'd priest from the prophetic cell.

XX.
The lonely mountains o’er,
And the resounding shore,

A voice of weeping heard and loud lament;
From haunted spring and dale
Edg'd with poplar pale,

185
The parting Genius is with fighing sent;
With flower-inwoven treffes torn
The Nymphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets

mourn.

XXI. In

XXI.
In consecrated earth,
And on the holy hearth,

190
The Lars and Lemures moan with midnight plaint;
In urns, and altars round,
A drear and dying found

Affrights the Flamens at their service quaint; And the chill marble seems to sweat,

195 While each peculiar Power forgoes his wonted feat.

XXII.
Peor and Baälim
Forsake their temples dim,

With that twice batter'd God of Palestine;
And mooned Ashtaroth,

200 and mother both, Now fits not girt with tapers' holy shine ; The Libyc Hammon fhrinks his horn, In vain the Tyrian maids their wounded Thammuz

mourn,

Heav'n's queen

205

XXIII.
And sullen Moloch fled,
Hath left in shadows dread

His burning idol all of blackest hue;
In vain with cymbals' ring
They call the grilly king,

In dismal dance about the furnace blue;
The brutish Gods of Nile as fast,
Isis and Orus, and the dog Anubis, haste.

210

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XXIV.

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