ix When such musick sweet As never was by mortall finger Strook, Answering the Stringed noise, As all their souls in blisfull rapture took: The Air such pleasure loth to lose, With thousand echo's still prolongs each beav'nly close. X Nature that beard such sound Beneath the bollow round Of Cynthia's seat, the Airy region thrilling, Now was almost won To think her part was don, And that her raign bad bere its last fulfilling; She knew such barmony alone Could bold all Heav'n and Earth in happier union. xi At last surrounds their sight A Globe of circular light, That with long beams the shame-fac't night array'd, The belmed Cherubim And sworded Seraphim, Are seen in glittering ranks with wings displaid, Harping in loud and solemn quire, With unexpressive notes to Heav'ns new-born Heir. xii Such Musick (as 'tis said) Before was never made, But when of old the sons of morning sung, While the Creator Great His constellations set, And the well-ballanc't world on binges bung, And cast the dark foundations deep, And bid the weltring waves their oozy channel keep. Ring out ye Crystall spbears, (If ye bave power to touch our senses so) And let your silver chime Move in melodious time; And let the Base of Heav'ns deep Organ blow, And with your ninefold barmony Make up full consort to th' Angelike symphony. For if such boly Song xiv Enwrap our fancy long, Time will run back, and fetch the age of gold, And Speckl'd vanity Will sicken soon and die, And leprous sin will melt from earthly mould, And Hell it self will pass away, And leave her dolorous mansions to the peering day. XV Yea Truth, and Justice then Th'enameld Arras of the Rain-bow wearing, Thron'd in Celestiall sheen, With radiant feet the tissued clouds down Stearing, And Heav'n as at som festivall, Will open wide the Gates of her bigh Palace Hall. xvi But wisest Fate sayes no, The Babe lies yet in smiling Infancy, Must redeem our loss; So both himself and us to glorifie: Yet first to those ychain'd in sleep, The wakefull trump of doom must thunder through the deep, xvii With such a horrid clang As on mount Sinai rang While the red fire, and smouldring clouds out brake: The aged Earth agast With terrour of that blast, Shall from the surface to the center shake; When at the worlds last session, The dreadfull Judge in middle Air shall spread his throne. xviii And then at last our bliss Full and perfect is, But now begins; for from this happy day Not balf so far casts his usurped sway, xix The Oracles are dumm, No voice or hideous bumm Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving. Apollo from his shrine Can no more divine, With bollow shreik the steep of Delphos leaving. No nightly trance, or breathed spell, Inspire's the pale-ey'd Priest from the prophetic cell. XX The lonely mountains o're, And the resounding shore, A voice of weeping beard, and loud lament; From baunted Spring, and dale Edg'd with poplar pale, The parting Genius is with sighing sent, With flowre-inwov'n tresses torn The Nimphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets mourn. |