For if such holy Song
Enwarp our fancy long
Time will run back, and fetch the age of gold,
Will sicken soon and die,
And leprous sin will melt from earthly mould,
And Hell it self will
And leave her dolorous mansions to the peering day.
Yea Truth, and Justice then
Will down return to men,
Thenameld Arras of the Rain-bow wearing,
Mercy set between,
Thrond in Celestiall sheen,
With radiant feet the tissued clouds down stearing,
Heavn as at som festivall,
Will open wide the Gates of her high Palace Hall.
But wisest Fate sayes no,
This must not yet be so,
The Babe lies yet in smiling Infancy,
on the bitter cross
Must redeem our loss;
So both himself and us to glorifie:
Yet first to those ychaind in
The wakefull trump of doom must thunder through the deep,
With such a horrid clang
As on mount Sinai rang
While the red fire, and smouldring clouds out
The agàd Earth agast
With terrour of that blast,
Shall from the surface to the center shake;
the worlds last session,
The dreadfull Judge in middle Air shall spread his throne.
And then1 at last our bliss
Full and perfect is,
But now begins; for from this happy day
Dragon under ground
In straiter limits bound,
Not half so far casts his usurpàd sway,
And wrath to see his
Swindges the scaly Horrour of his foulded tail.
The Oracles are dumm,
No voice or hideous humm
Runs through the archàd roof in words
Apollo from his shrine
Can no more divine,
With hollow shreik the steep of Delphos leaving.
nightly trance, or breathàd spell,
Inspires the pale-eyd Priest from the prophetic cell.
The lonely mountains ore,
And the resounding shore,
A voice of weeping heard, and loud
From haunted spring, and dale
Edgd with poplar pale,
The parting Genius is with sighing sent,
flowre-inwovn tresses torn
The Nimphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets mourn.
In consecrated Earth,
And on the holy Hearth,
The Lars, and Lemures moan with midnight
In Urns, and Altars round,
A drear, and dying sound
Affrights the Flamins at their service quaint;
the chill Marble seems to sweat,
While each peculiar power forgoes his wonted seat.
Peor, and Baalim,
Forsake their Temples dim,
With that twise-batterd god of Palestine,
Heavns Queen and Mother both,
Now sits not girt with Tapers holy shine,
Hammon shrinks his horn,
In vain the Tyrian Maids their wounded Thamuz mourn.
And sullen Moloch fled,
Hath left in shadows dred,
His burning Idol all of blackest hue,
with Cymbals ring,
They call the grisly king,
In dismall dance about the furnace blue;
The brutish gods of
Nile as fast,
Isis and Orus, and the Dog Anubis hast.
Nor is Osiris seen
In Memphian Grove, or Green,
Trampling the unshowrd Grasse with lowings
Nor can he be at rest
Within his sacred chest,
Naught but profoundest Hell can be his shroud,
with Timbreld Anthems dark
The sable-stolàd Sorcerers bear his worshipt Ark.
He feels from Judas Land
The dredded Infants hand,
The rayes of Bethlehem blind his dusky
Nor all the gods beside,
Longer dare abide,
Not Typhon huge ending in snaky twine:
Our Babe to
shew his Godhead true,
Can in his swadling bands controul the damnàd crew,
So when the Sun in bed,
Curtaind with cloudy red,
Pillows his chin upon an Orient wave,
flocking shadows pale,
Troop to thinfernall jail,
Each fetterd Ghost slips to his severall grave,
Fly after the Night-steeds, leaving their Moon-lovd maze.
But see the Virgin blest,
Hath laid her Babe to rest.
Time is our tedious Song should here
Heavns youngest teemàd Star,
Hath fixt her polisht Car,
Her sleeping Lord with Handmaid
And all about the Courtly Stable,
Bright-harnest Angels sit in order serviceable.