Oh no! for something in thy face did shine

Above mortality, that fhew'd thou wast divine.

VI.

Refolve me then, oh Soul most surely blest,
(If fo it be that thou these plaints doft hear)
Tell me bright Spirit where e'er thou hoverest,
Whether above that high first-moving Sphere,
Or in the Elisian fields (if such there were.)
O fay me true, if thou wert mortal wight,
And why from us fo quickly thou didst take thy flight.
VII.

Wert thou fome Star which from the ruin'd roof
Of thak't Olympus by mifchance didst fall;
Which careful Jove in Nature's true behoof
Took up, and in fit place did reinstal?
Or did of late earth's Sons befiege the wall

Of sheenie Heav'n, and thou fome goddess fled Amongst us here below to hide thy nectar'd head.

१

VIII.

Or wert thou that just Maid who once before
Forfook the hated earth, O tell me footh,
And cam'ft again to visit us once more?
Or wert thou that sweet smiling Youth?

Of

Or that crown'd Matron fage white-robed Truth? Or any other of that Heav'nly brood

Let down in clowdie throne to do the World fome

Or wert thou of the golden-winged hoast,
Who having clad thy felf in humane weed,
To earth from thy præfixed seat didst poast,
And after short abode flie back with speed,
As if to fhew what creatures Heav'n doth breed,
Thereby to set the hearts of men on fire

To scorn the fordid world, and unto Heav'n aspire.

X.

But oh why didft thou not stay here below
To bless us with thy Heav'n-lov'd innocence,
To flake his wrath whom fin hath made our foe,
To turn swift-rushing black perdition hence,
Or drive away the flaughtering peftilence,
To ftand 'twixt us and our deserved smart?
But thou canst best perform that office where thou art.

XI.

Then thou the Mother of fo fweet a Child

Her falfe imagin'd lofs ceafe to lament,
And wifely learn to curb thy forrows wild,

Think what a present thou to God hast sent,

And render him with patience what he lent;
This if thou do, he will an off-spring give,

That till the World's laft end fhall make thy name to

E

The Paffion.

I.

'ER-while of Mufick, and Ethereal mirth,

[live.

Wherewith the stage of Air and Earth did ring,

And joyous news of Heav'nly Infants birth,
My mufe with Angels did divide to fing;
But headlong joy is ever on the wing,

In Wintry folftice like the shortn'd light
Soon swallow'd up in dark and long out-living night.
II.

For now to forrow muft I tune my fong,

And fet my Harp to notes of faddeft wo,
Which on our deareft Lord did feife e'er long,
Dangers, and fnares, and wrongs, and worse than so,
Which he for us did freely undergo.

Moft perfect Heroe, try'd in heaviest plight
Of labours huge and hard, too hard for human wight,

III. He

III.

He fov'ran Priest stooping his regal head

That dropt with odorous oil down his fair eyes,
Poor fleshly Tabernacle entered,

His starry front low-rooft beneath the skies;
O what a mask was there, what a disguise!

Yet more, the stroke of death he must abide, Then lies him meekly down fast by his Brethrens fide, IV.

These latest scenes confine my roving verse,
To this Horizon is my Phebus bound;

His Godlike acts, and his temptations fierce,
And former fufferings other where are found;
Loud o'er the resft Cremona's Trump doth found;
Me fofter airs befit, and fofter ftrings

Of Lute, or Viol ftill, more apt for mournful things,
V.

Befriend me night, best Patronefs of grief,
Over the Pole thy thickest mantle throw,

And work my flatter'd fancy to belief,

That Heav'n and Earth are colour'd with my wo; My forrows are too dark for day to know:

The leaves should all be black whereon I write,

And letters where my tears have wash'd a wannish [white.

VI.

See, see the Chariot, and those rushing wheels,
That whirl'd the Prophet up at Chebar flood,
My fpirit fome tranfporting Cherub feels,

To bear me where the Towers of Salem ftood,
Once glorious Towers, now funk in guiltless blood;
There doth my Soul in holy vision fit,

In penfive trance, and anguish, and ecftatick fit,

VII.

Mine eye hath found that fad Sepulchral rock That was the Casket of Heav'ns richest store, feeble hands up lock,

And here through grief my feeble hands
Yet on the foftned Quarry would I fcore
My plaining verfe as lively as before;

For fure fo well inftructed are my tears,
That they would fitly fall in order'd Characters.
VIII.

Or should I thence hurried on viewless wing,
ake up a weeping on the Mountains wild,'
'he gentle neighbourhood of grove and spring
Would foon unbofom all their Echoes mild,

And