XVIII And then at last our bliss Full and perfect is, But now begins; for from this happy day In straiter limits bound, Not half so far casts his usurpèd sway,· And, wroth to see his kingdom fail, Swinges the scaly horror of his folded tail. 170 XIX The Oracles are dumb; No voice or hideous hum Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving. Apollo from his shrine Can no more divine, With hollow shriek the step of Delphos leaving. No nightly trance, or breathèd spell, 179 Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell. XX The lonely mountains o'er, And the resounding shore, A voice of weeping heard and loud lament; From haunted spring, and dale Edged with poplar pale, The parting Genius is with sighing sent; With flower-inwoven tresses torn The Nymphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets mourn. In consecrated earth, XXI And on the holy hearth, 190 The Lars and Lemures moan with midnight plaint; In urns, and altars round, A drear and dying sound Affrights the flamens at their service quaint; And the chill marble seems to sweat, While each peculiar power forgoes his wonted seat. XXII Peor and Baälim Forsake their temples dim, With that twice-battered god of Palestine; And moonèd Ashtaroth, Heaven's queen and mother both, Now sits not girt with tapers' holy shine: The Libyc Hammon shrinks his horn; 200 In vain the Tyrian maids their wounded Thammuz mourn. XXIII And sullen Moloch, fled, Hath left in shadows dread His burning idol all of blackest hue; They call the grisly king, In dismal dance about the furnace blue; The brutish gods of Nile as fast, Isis, and Orus, and the dog Anubis, haste. 210 Nor is Osiris seen XXIV In Memphian grove or green, Trampling the unshowered grass with lowings loud; Nor can he be at rest Within his sacred chest; Nought but profoundest Hell can be his shroud; In vain, with timbreled anthems dark, The sable-stolèd sorcerers bear his worshiped ark. 220 XXV He feels from Juda's land The dreaded Infant's hand; The rays of Bethlehem blind his dusky eyn; Nor all the gods beside Longer dare abide, Not Typhon huge ending in snaky twine: Our Babe, to show his Godhead true, Can in his swaddling bands control the damnèd crew. XXVI So, when the sun in bed, Curtained with cloudy red, Pillows his chin upon an orient wave, The flocking shadows pale Troop to the infernal jail, Each fettered ghost slips to his several grave, And the yellow-skirted fays 230 Fly after the night-steeds, leaving their moon-loved. maze. XXVII But see! the Virgin blest Hath laid her Babe to rest. Time is our tedious song should here have ending: Heaven's youngest-teemèd star Hath fixed her polished car, 240 Her sleeping Lord with handmaid lamp attending; And all about the courtly stable Bright-harnessed Angels sit in order serviceable. UPON THE CIRCUMCISION YE flaming Powers, and wingèd Warriors bright, Seas wept from our deep sorrow. He who with all Heaven's heraldry whilere Sore doth begin His infancy to seize! O more exceeding love, or law more just? 10 Were lost in death, till he, that dwelt above And that great covenant which we still transgress And the full wrath beside Of vengeful justice bore for our excess, And seals obedience first with wounding smart This day; but oh! ere long, Huge pangs and strong Will pierce more near his heart. THE PASSION I EREWHILE of music, and ethereal mirth, In wintry solstice like the shortened light II For now to sorrow must I tune my song, And set my harp to notes of saddest woe, Which on our dearest Lord did seize ere long, 10 Dangers, and snares, and wrongs, and worse than so, Which he for us did freely undergo: Most perfect Hero, tried in heaviest plight Of labours huge and hard, too hard for human wight! |