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And let your silver chime Move in melodious time,
And let the base of Heav'n's deep organ blow, 130 And with your ninefold hårmony Make up full consort 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 soon and die,
And leprous Sin will melt from earthly mold, And Hell itself will pass away, And leave her dolorous mansions to the peeringday.
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 wisest 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 sleep,
155 The wakeful trump of doom muft thunder through XVII.
(the deep, With such a horrid clang As on mount Sinai rang, While the red fire, and smouldring clouds out brake: The aged earth aghalt,
160 With terror of that blast,
Shall from the surface to the center shake; When at the world's last session,
(throne. The dreadful Judge in middle air shall spread his
But now begins; for from this happy day
Not half so far casts his usurped sway, 170
XIX. The oracles are dumb, No voice or hideous hum Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving. Z 2
Apollo from his shrine
176 Can no more divine, . .
With hollow shriek the seep 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,
190 The Lars, and Lemures moan with midnight In urns, and altars round,
(plaint; A drear and dying sound
Affrights the Flamens at their service quaint;
And mooned Ashtaroth,
Now fits not girt with tapers holy shine;
His burning idol all of blackest hue;
In dismal dance about the furnace blue; 210
Trampling theunshowr’dgrass with lowings loud:
Nought but profoundest Hell can be his shroud;
Nor all the Gods beside,
Not Typhon huge ending in snaky twine:
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 th' infernal jail,
Each fetter'd ghost slips to his several grave, And the yellow-skirted Fayes
235 Fly after the night-steeds, leaving their moon-lov'd XXVII.
(maze. But see the Virgin blest Hath laid her Babe to rest,
Time is our tedious song should here have ending: Heav’n’s youngest teemed star
240 Hath fix'd her polish'd car,
Her sleeping Lord with handmaid lampattending: And all about the courtly stable Bright-harnest Angels fit in order serviceable.