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Tars is the month, and this the happy morn
That he our deadly forfeit should release,
That glorious form, that light unsufferable,
* This Ode, in which the many learned allusions are highly poetical, was probably composed as a college exercise at Cambridge, our author being now only twenty-one years old, Warton.
Forsook the courts of everlasting day, And chose with us a darksome house of mortal clay.
Say, heavenly muse, shall not thy sacred vein
Hath took no print of the approaching light,
See, how from far, upon the eastern road,
And join thy voice unto the angel-quire,
It was the winter wild,
All meanly wrapt, in the rude manger lies;
With her great Master so to sympathize :
Only with speeches fair
To hide her guilty front with innocent snow;
The saintly veil of maiden white to throw;
But he, her fears to cease,
She, crown'd with olive green, came softly sliding
With turtle wing the amorous clouds dividing; And, waving wide her myrtle wand, She strikes an universal peace through sea and land.
No war, or battle's sound,
The idle spear and shield were high up hung;
The trumpet spake not to the armed throng; And kings sat still with awful eye, As if they surely knew their sovereign Lord was br.
But peaceful was the night,
His reign of peace upon the earth began :
Whispering new joys to the mild ocean;
The stars, with deep amaze,
Bending one way their precious influence;
Or Lucifer that often warn'd them thence; .
The sun himself withheld his wonted speed,
The new-enlighten'd world no more should need; He saw a greater Sun appear
[bear. Than his bright throne, or burning axletree, could
The shepherds on the lawn,
Sat simply chatting in a rustic row; '
Was kindly come to live with them below;
As never was by mortal finger strook ;
As all their souls in blissful rapture took:
Nature, that heard such sound,
Of Cynthia's seat, the aëry region thrilling,
And that her reign had here its last fulfilling;
That with long beams the shamefac’d night arThe helmed Cherubim, the ..(ray'd; And sworded Seraphim,
Are seen in glittering ranks with wings display'd, Harping in loud and solemn quire,
But when of old the sons of morning sung,
And the well-balanc'd world on hinges hung; .
Ring out, ye crystal spheres,
If ye have power to touch our senses so;
And let the base of Heaven's deep organ blow;