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Trampling the unshower'd grafs with lowings loud;
Nought but profoundest Hell can be his shroud; In vain with timbrel'd anthems dark The fable-stoled sorcerers bear his worthịpt ark. 220
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-fteeds, leaving their moon-lov'd
Time is our tedious song should here have ending :
240 Hath fix'd her polish'd car,
Her sleeping Lord with handmaid lamp attending:
REWHILE of music, and ethereal mirth,
Wherewith the stage of air and earth did ring,
my harp to notes of saddest woe,
Most perfect Hero, try'd in heaviest plight
He sovran Priest stooping his regal head,
15 That dropt with odorous oil down his fair eyes, Poor fleshly tabernacle entered, His starry front low-rooft beneath the skies; O what a mak was there, what a disguise !
Yet more; the stroke of death he must abide, Then lies him meekly down fast by his brethren's fide.
Me softer airs befit, and softer strings
The leaves should all be black whereon I write, And letters where my tears have walh'd a wannish white.
35 VI. See, see the chariot, and those rushing wheels, "That whirl'd the Prophet up at Chebar flood, My spirit fome transporting Cherub feels,
my soul in holy vision fit
hath found that fad sepulchral rock
For fure so well instructed are my tears,
Might think th' infection of my forrows loud 55
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.
ON ΤΙ Μ Ε.
Call on the lazy leaden-stepping hours,