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took : The air, such pleasure loth to lose, With thousand echoes still prolongs each heav'nly close.
Of Cynthia's seat, the aery region thrilling,
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.
But when of old the sons of morning sung,
And the well-balanc'd world on hinges hung,
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
Time will run back, and fetch the age of gold, 135
And leprous Sin will melt from earthly mold, And Hell itself will pass away, And leave her dolorous manfions to the peering day.
Orb'd in a rainbow; and like glories wearing
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,
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 then at last our bliss
165 Full and perfect is,
But now begins; for from this happy day
170 And wroth to see his kingdom fail, Swindges the scaly horror of his folded tail.
Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving.
With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving. No nightly trance, or breathed spell, Inspires the pale-ey'd priest from the prophetic cell.
A voice of weeping heard and loud lament;
Affrights the Flamens at their service quaint; And the chill marble seems to sweat,
195 While each peculiar Power forgoes his wonted feat.
With that twice batter'd God of Palestine;
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
His burning idol all of blackest hue;
In dismal dance about the furnace blue;