Six Centuries of English Poetry Part 29

No war, or battails sound, Was heard the world around; The idle spear and shield were high up hung; The hooked chariot{13} stood Unstain'd with hostile blood; The trumpet spake not to the armed throng; And kings sate still with awfull eye,{14} As if they surely knew their sovran Lord was by.

V.

But peacefull was the night Wherein the Prince of Light His raign of peace upon the earth began; The windes, with wonder whist,{15} Smoothly the waters kist, Whispering new joyes to the milde 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 precious influence,{16} And will not take their flight For{17} all the morning light Or Lucifer{18} that often warn'd them thence; But in their glimmering orbs did glow, Untill their Lord himself bespake, and bid them go.

VII.

And, though the shady Gloom Had given day her room, The sun himself withheld his wonted speed, And hid his head for shame, As his inferiour flame The new-enlightn'd world no more should need; He saw a greater sun appear Than his bright throne or burning axle-tree{19} could bear.

VIII.

The shepherds on the lawn{20} Or ere{21} the point of dawn Sate simply chatting in a rustick row; Full little thought they than That the mighty Pan{22} Was kindly com to live with them below; Perhaps their loves, or else their sheep, Was all that did their silly{23} thoughts so busie keep.

IX.

When such musick sweet Their hearts and ears did greet As never was by mortall finger strook,{24} Divinely warbled voice Answering the stringed noise{25} As all their souls in blissfull rapture took; The air, such pleasure loth to lose, With thousand echo's still prolongs each heav'nly close.{26}

X.

Nature that heard such sound Beneath the hollow round{27} Of Cynthia's seat the airy region thrilling, Now was almost won To think her part was don, And that her raign had here its{28} last fulfilling; She knew such harmony alone Could hold all Heav'n and Earth in happier union.

XI.

At last surrounds their sight A globe of circular light, That with long beams the shame-fac't Night array'd; The helmed Cherubim,{29} The sworded Seraphim Are seen in glittering ranks with wings displaied, Harping in loud and solemn quire With unexpressive{30} notes to Heav'n's new-born Heir.

XII.

Such musick (as 'tis said) Before was never made But when of old the sons of Morning sung,{31} While the Creator great His constellation set, And the well-ballanc't world on hinges{32} hung, And cast the dark foundations deep, And bid the weltring{33} waves their oozy channel keep.

XIII.

Ring out, ye crystall sphears;{34} Once bless our humane ears (If ye have power to touch our senses so), And let your silver chime Move in melodious time, And let the base of Heav'ns deep organ blow, And with your ninefold harmony Make up full consort{35} to th' angelike symphony.

XIV.

For, if such holy song Enwrap our fancy long, Time will run back and fetch the age of Gold;{36} And speckl'd Vanity Will sicken soon and die, And leprous sin will melt from earthly mould;{37} And h.e.l.l itself will pa.s.s away, And leave her{38} dolorous mansions to the peering day.

XV.

Yea, Truth and Justice then Will down return to men, Orb'd in a rainbow; and, like glories wearing, Mercy will set between, Thron'd in celestiall sheen, With radiant feet the tissued clouds down stearing; And Heav'n, as at som festivall, Will open wide the gates of her high palace hall.{39}

XVI.

But wisest Fate sayes no; This must not yet be so; The Babe lies yet in smiling infancy, That on the bitter cross{40} Must redeem our loss, So both himself and us to glorifie; Yet first to those ychain'd{41} in sleep The wakefull trump{42} of doom must thunder through the deep.

XVII.

With such a horrid clang As on Mount Sinai rang,{43} While the red fire and smould'ring clouds out brake; The aged Earth, agast, With terrour of that blast, Shall from the surface to the center shake; When at the worlds last session{44} The dreadfull Judge in middle air shall spread his throne.

XVIII.

And then at last our bliss Full and perfect is, But now begins; for from this happy day, Th' old Dragon{45} under ground, In straiter limits bound, Not half so far casts his usurped sway; And, wroth to see his kingdom fail, Swindges{46} the scaly horrour of his foulded tail.

XIX.

The oracles are dumm;{47} No voice or hideous humm Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving.

Apollo from his shrine Can no more divine, With hollow shreik the steep of Delphos{48} leaving.

No nightly trance, or breathed spell, Inspires the pale-ey'd Priest from the prophetic cell.

XX.

The lonely mountains o'er And the resounding sh.o.r.e A voice of weeping{49} heard and loud lament; From haunted spring and dale Edged with poplar pale The parting{50} Genius is with sighing sent; With floure-inwov'n tresses torn The nimphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets mourn.

XXI.

In consecrated earth, And on the holy hearth{51} The Lars and Lemures moan with midnight plaint In urns and altars round, A drear and dying sound Affrights the Flamins{52} at their service quaint And the chill marble seems to sweat, While each peculiar power forgoes{53} his wonted seat.

XXII.

Peor and Baalim{54} Forsake their temples dim, With that twise batter'd G.o.d{55} of Palestine; And mooned Ashtaroth, Heav'ns queen and mother both, Now sits not girt with tapers holy shine; The Lybic Hammon shrinks his horn; In vain the Tyrian maids their wounded Thammuz mourn;{56}

XXIII.

And sullen Moloch, fled, Hath left in shadows dred{57} His burning idol all of blackest hue; In vain with cymbals ring They call the grisly{58} King In dismall dance about the furnace blue; The brutish{59} G.o.ds of Nile as fast, Isis, and Orus, and the dog Anubis last.