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0 run, prevent them with thy humble ode, And lay it lowly at his blessed feet;

Have thou the honour first, thy Lord to greet,

And join thy voice unto the angel quire,

From out his secret altar toucht with hallow'd fire.

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All meanly wrapt, in the rude manger lies: Nature in awe to him

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It was no season then for her

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To wanton with the sun, her lusty paramour.

II.

Only with speeches fair

She woo's the gentle air

To hide her guilty front with innocent snow, And on her naked shame,

Pollute with sinful blame,

The saintly veil of maiden white to throw;

Confounded that her Maker's eyes

Should look so near upon her foul deformities.

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III.

But he, her fears to cease,

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Sent down the meek-ey'd Peace;

She, crown'd with olive green, came softly sliding Down through the turning sphere,

His ready harbinger,

With turtle wing the amorous clouds dividing;

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And waving wide her myrtle wand,

She strikes a universal peace through sea and land.

No war, or battle's sound,

IV.

Was heard the world around:

The idle spear and shield were high up hung; The hooked chariot stood

Unstain'd with hostile blood,

The trumpet spake not to the armed throng; And kings sate still with awful eye,

As if they surely knew their sovran Lord was by.

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V.

But peaceful was the night
Wherein the Prince of light

His reign of peace upon the earth began:
The winds, with wonder whist,

Smoothly the waters kist,

Whispering new joys to the mild Ocean,

Who now hath quite forgot to rave,

While birds of calm sit brooding on the charmed wave.

VI.

The stars, with deep amaze,

Stand fixt in stedfast gaze,

Bending one way their pretious influence;

And will not take their flight

For all the morning light,

Or Lucifer that often warn'd them thence;

But in their glimmering orbs did glow,

Until their Lord himself bespake, and bid them go.

VII.

And though the shady gloom

Had given day her room,

The sun himself with-held his wonted speed;

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And hid his head for shame,

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As his inferior flame

The new-enlightn'd world no more should need;

He saw a greater Sun appear

Than his bright throne or burning axletree could bear.

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Perhaps their loves, or else their sheep,

Was all that did their silly thoughts so busy keep;—

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Divinely warbled voice

Answering the stringed noise

As all their souls in blissful rapture took :

The air, such pleasure loth to lose,

With thousand echo's still prolongs each heav'nly close.

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X.

Nature, that heard such sound

Beneath the hollow round

Of Cynthia's seat the airy region thrilling, Now was almost won

To think her part was done,

She knew such harmony alone

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And that her reign had here its last fulfilling ;

Could hold all Heav'n and Earth in happier union.

XI.

At last surrounds their sight

A globe of circular light,

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That with long beams the shame-fac't night array'd; The helmed cherubim

And sworded seraphim

Are seen in glittering ranks with wings display'd; Harping in loud and solemn quire,

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With unexpressive notes to Heav'ns new-born Heir.

XII.

Such music (as 'tis said)

Before was never made,

But when of old the sons of morning sung; While the Creator great

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His constellations set,

And the well-balanc't world on hinges hung,

And cast the dark foundations deep,

And bid the weltring waves their oozy channel keep.

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And let the base of Heav'ns deep organ blow:

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And, with your ninefold harmony,

Make up full consort to th' angelic symphony.

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Time will run back, and fetch the age of gold;

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And speckl'd vanity

Will sicken soon and die,

And leprous sin will melt from earthly mould; And Hell itself will pass away,

And leave her dolorous mansions to the peering day.

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XV.

Yea, Truth and Justice then

Will down return to men,

Orb'd in a rainbow; and, like glories wearing, Mercy will sit between,

Thron'd in celestial sheen,

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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.

But wisest Fate says no;

This must not yet be so:

XVI.

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,

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The wakeful trump of doom must thunder through the deep,

With such a horrid clang

As on Mount Sinai rang,

XVII.

While the red fire and smouldring clouds out brake:

The aged Earth, agast

With terror of that blast,

Shall from the surface to the centre shake;

When at the world's last session

The dreadful Judge in middle air shall spread his throne.

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XVIII.

And then at last our bliss

Full and perfect is,

But now begins: for, from this happy day, Th' old Dragon, under ground

In straiter limits bound,

Not half so far casts his usurped sway;

And, wroth to see his kingdom fail,

Swindges the scaly horror of his folded tail.

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XIX.

The oracles are dumb;

No voice or hideous hum

Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving. Apollo from his shrine

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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.

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The lonely mountains o'er,

And the resounding shore,

XX.

A voice of weeping heard and loud lament; From haunted spring, and dale

Edg'd with poplar pale,

The parting genius is with sighing sent:

With flower-inwov'n tresses torn,

The nymphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets mourn.

XXI.

In consecrated earth,

And on the holy hearth,

In urns, and altars round,

The Lars and Lemures moan with midnight plaint;

A drear and dying sound

Affrights the Flamens at their service quaint;

And the chill marble seems to sweat,

While each peculiar power forgoes his wonted seat.

Peor and Baälim

XXII,

Forsake their temples dim,

With that twice-batter'd god of Palestine;

And mooned Ashtaroth,

Heav'ns queen and mother both,

The Libyc Hammon shrinks his horn;

Now sits not girt with tapers' holy shine;

In vain the Tyrian maids their wounded Thammuz mourn.

And sullen Moloch fled,

XXIII.

Hath left in shadows dread

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In Memphian grove, or green,

Trampling the unshowr'd grass with lowings loud : Nor can he be at rest

Within his sacred chest ;

Nought but profoundest Hell can be his shroud ; In vain with timbrell'd anthems dark

The sable-stoled sorcerers bear his worshipt ark.

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