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Trampling the unshower'd grass with lowings loud :
Nought but profoundest Hell can be his shroud;
of Bethlehem blind his dusky eyn ;
Pillows his chin upon an orient wave,
Each fetter'd ghost Nips to his several grave,
235 Fly after the night-steeds, leaving their moon-lov'd
Time is our tedious fong should here have ending: Heaven's youngest teemed star
240 Hath fix'd her polish'd car,
Her fleeping Lord with handmaid lamp attending : And all about the courtly stable Bright-harnest Angels fit in order serviceable.
Wherewith the stage of air and earth did ring, And joyous news of heav'nly Infant's birth, My Muse with Angels did divide to singi But headlong joy is ever on the wing,
5 In wintry folftice like the shorten'd light Soon swallow'd up in dark and long out-living night.
II. For now to forrow must I tune my song, And fet my harp to notes of saddest woe, Which on our dearest Lord did seize ere long, Dangers, and snares, and wrongs, and worse than so, Which he for us did freely undergo:
Most perfect Hero, try'd in heaviest plight Of labors huge and hard, too hard for human wight!
Yet more; the stroke of death he must abide, Then lies him meekly down fast by his brethren's side.
IV. These latest scenes confine my roving verse, To this horizon is my Phobus bound; His Godlike acts, and his temptations fierce, And former sufferings other-where are found; 25 Loud c'er the rest Cremona's trump doth found;
Me softer airs befit, and softer strings
The leaves should all be black whereon I write, And letters where my tears have wallı'd a wannish white.
35 VI. See, see the chariot, and those rushing wheels, That whirl'd the Prophet up at Chebar flood, My spirit some transporting Cherub feels,
To bear me where the towers of Salem stood,
There doth my soul in holy vision fit
For sure so well instructed are my tears,
Might think th' infection of my sorrows loud 55 Had got a race of mourners on some pregnant cloud.
This subject the Author finding to be above the years
he had, when he wrote it, and nothing satisfied with what was begun, left it unfinish'd.
T I ME.
Call on the lazy leaden-stepping hours,
5 And merely mortal dross; So little is our loss, So little is thy gain. For when as each thing bad thou hast intomb'd, And last of all thy greedy felf consum’d, Then long Eternity shall greet our bliss With an individual kiss; And Joy shall overtake us as a flood, When every thing that is sincerely good And perfectly divine,
13 With truth, and peace, and love, Tall ever shine About the supreme throne Of him, t' whose happy-making sight alone When once our heay’nly-guided foul shall climb, Then all this earthy grofinefs quit, Attir'd with stars, we shall for ever sit, Triumphing over Death, and Chance, and thee, O