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Apollo from his fhrine 176
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, 181
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 sighing sent; With flow's- in woven tresses torn (mourn.
The Nymphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets
XXL * In consecrated earth,
And on the holy hearth, igo
The Lars, and Lemures moan with midnight In urns, and altars round, (plaint;
A drear and dying found
Affrights the Flamens at their service quaint; And the chill marble seems to sweat, 195
While each peculiar Pow'r forgoes his wonted feat.
With that twice batter'd God of Palestine;
And And mooned Ashtaroth, 200
Heav'n's queen and mother both,
Now sits not girt with tapers holy mine; The Lybic Hammon shrinks his horn, (mourn In vain the Tyrian maids their wounded Thammuz
XXIII. And sullen Moloch fled, 205
Hath left in shadows dread
His burning idol all of blackest hue;
In dismal dance about the furnace blue; 210
Trampling theunshowr'd grass withlowings loud: Nor can he be at rest 516
Within his sacred chest,
Nought but profoundest Hell can be his shroud; In vain with timbrel'd anthems dark The fable-stoled sorcerers bear his worshipt ark.
. XXV. He feels fromjuda's land 521
The dreaded Infant's hand,
The rays of Bethlehem blind his dusky eyn;
Nor Nor all the Gods beside, 225
Longer dare abide,
Not Typhon huge ending in snaky twine: Our babe to show his Godhead true, Can in his swadling bands controll the damned crew.
Pillows his chin upon an orient wave,
Each fetter'd ghost flips to his several grave, And the yellow-skirted Fayes 235
Fly after the night-steeds, leaving their moon-lov'd
But fee the Virgin blest
Time is our tedious song should here have ending: Heav'n's youngest teemed star 240
Hath fix'd her polisti'd car,
Her fleeping Lord with handmaid lamp attending: And all about the courtly stable Bright-harnest Angels sit in order serviceable.
The P A S S I 0 JV.
EREWHILE of music, and ethereal mirth,
In wintry solstice like the shorten'd light
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 seise ere long, 10 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!
That dropt with odorous oil down his fair eyes,
Yet more; the stroke of death he must abide, 20 Then lies him meekly down fastby his brethren's side.
These latest scenes confine my roving verse,
Me softer airs befit, and softer strings
And work my flatter'd fancy to belief,
The leaves should all be black whereon I write,
To bear me where the tow'rs of Salem stood,
In pensive trance, and anguish, and exstatic sit.
Mine eye hath found that sad sepulchral rock