« AnteriorContinuar »
For if such holy song .
Time will run back, and fetch the age of gold;
And leprous Sin will melt from earthly mould; And Hell itself will pass away, And leave her dolorous mansions to the peering day.
Yea, Truth and Justice then
Orb'd in a rainbow; and, like glories wearing,
With radiant feet the tissued clouds down steerAnd Heaven, as at some festival, . (ing; Will open wide the gates of her high palace hall,
But wisest Fate says no,
The Babe yet lies in smiling infancy, ?
So both himself and us to glorify;
With such a horrid clang
While the red fire and smouldring clouds out The aged earth aghast,
[broke: With terror of that blast,
Shall from the surface to the centre shake : When, at the world's last session,
(throne, "The dreadful Judge in middle air shall spread his
And then at last our bliss
But now begins: for, from this happy day,
Not half so far casts his usurped sway; ..
The oracles are dumb;
Runs through the arched roof, in words deceiving:
With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving: . No nightly trance, or breathed spell, Inspires the pale-ey'd priest from the prophetic cell.
The lonely mountains o’er,
A voice of weeping heard, and loud lament;
The parting genius is with sighing sent;
The nymphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets
In consecrated earth,
The Lars and Lemures moan with midnight plaint;
Affrights the famens at their service quaint; And the chill marble seems to sweat,, While each peculiar Power foregoes his wonted seat.
Peor and Baälim
With that twice-batter'd god of Palestine;
Now sits not girt with tapers' holy shine ;
And sullen Moloch, fled,
His burning idol all of blackest hue;
In dismal dance, about the furnace blue:
Trampling the unshower'd grass with lowings Nor can he be at rest
[loud: Within his sacred chest;
Nought but profoundest hell can be his shroud; In vain, with timbreld anthems dark, The sable-stoled sorcerers bear bis worship’d.ark.
He feels from Juda's land
The rays of Bethlehem blind his dusky eyne;
Not Typhon huge, ending in snaky twine :
So, when the sun in bed,
Pillows his chin upon an orient wave,
Each fetter'd ghost slips to his several grave;
[maze. Fly after the night-steeds, leaving their moon-lov’d
But see, the Virgin bless'd
Time is, our tedious song should here have endHeaven's youngest-teemed star
(ing: Hath fix'd her polish'd car,
Her sleeping Lord with handmaid lamp attendAnd all about the courtly stable
'[ing: Bright-harness’d angels sit in order serviceable.
EREWHILE of music, and ethereal mirth, -
For now to sorrow must I tune my song,
Most perfect Hero, tried in heaviest plight Of labours huge and hard, too hard for human wight!
He, sovereign Priest, stooping his regal head,
Yet more; the stroke of death he must abide, Then lies him meekly down fast byhis brethren's side.
These latest scenes confine my roving verse;
Me softer airs befit, and softer strings
Befriend me, Night, best patroness of grief;
The leaves should all be black whereon I write, And letters, where my tears have wash'd, a wan
See, see the chariot, and those rushing wheels,
There doth my soul in holy vision sit,