And fullen Moloch fled,

XXIII.

Hath left in fhadows dread

His burning idol all of blackeft hue; In vain with cymbals ring

They call the grisly king,

In difmal dance about the furnace blue; The brutish Gods of Nile as fast,

Ifis an d Orus, and the dog Anubis haste.

Nor is Ofiris feen

XXIV.

In Memphian grove or green,

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210

Trampling the unshowr'd grass with lowings loud:

Nor can he be at rest

Within his facred cheft,

Nought but profoundest Hell can be his shroud;

In vain with timbrel'd anthems dark

216

The fable-ftoled forcerers bear his worshipt ark. 220 XXV.

He feels from Juda's land

The dreaded Infant's hand,

rays

The of Bethlehem blind his dusky eyn; Nor all the God's befide,

Longer dare abide,

Not Typhon huge ending in fnaky twine: Our babe to fhow his Godhead true,

225

Can in his swadling bands controll the damned crew.

So when the fun in bed,

XXVI.

Curtain'd with cloudy red

Pillows his chin upon an orient wave,

The flocking fhadows pale

Troop to th' infernal jail,

Each fetter'd ghoft flips to his feveral grave,

230

And the yellow-fkirted Fayes

235

Fly after the night-steeds, leaving their moon-lov’dmaze. XXVII.

But fee the Virgin bleft

Hath laid her Babe to reft,

Time is our tedious fong fhould here have ending: Heav'ns youngest teemed ftar

Hath fix'd her polish'd car,

240

Her fleeping Lord with handmaid lamp attending:

And all about the courtly ftable

Bright harnest Angels fit in order ferviceable.

IV.

The PASSION. *

I.

Rewhile of mufic, and ethereal mirth,

Wherewith the ftage of air and earth did ring,

And joyous news of heav'nly infant's birth,
My Mufe with Angels did divide to fing;
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 muft I tune my fong,

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And fet my harp to notes of faddeft woe,
Which on our dearest Lord did feife ere long,
Dangers, and fnares, and wrongs, and worse than fo,
Which he for us did freely undergo:

Moft perfect Hero, try'd in heaviest plight
Of labors huge and hard, too hard for human wight!

*This poem appears to have been compofed foon after the Ode on the Nativity.

III.

He fovereign Prieft ftooping his regal head,
That dropt with odorous oil down his fair eyes,
Poor fleshly tabernacle entered,

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

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

Thefe latest scenes confine my roving verse,
To this horizon is my Phœbus bound;
His Godlike acts, and his temptations fierce,
And former fufferings other where are found ;
Loud o'er the rest 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 thickeft mantle throw,
And work my flatter'd fancy to belief,

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

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The leaves fhould all be black whereon I write, 35 And letters where my tears have wash'da wannish white. VI.

See, fee the chariot, and those rufhing wheels,
That whirl'd the Prophet up at Chebar flood,
My spirit fome tranfporting Cherub feels,
To bear me where the tow'rs of Salem ftood,
Once glorious tow'rs, now funk in guiltless blood; 4o
There doth my foul in holy vision fit

In penfive trance, and anguish, and ecftatic fit.

26. Loud o'er the reft Cremona's trump doth found;] He means Marcus Hieronymus Vida, who was a native of Cremona, and alludes particularly to his poem, Christiados, Libri fex.

VII.

Mine eye hath found that sad fepulchral rock
That was the casket of Heav'n's richest ftore,
And here though grief my feeble hands up lock, 45
Yet on the foften'd quarry would I score

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 fhould I thence hurry'd on viewless wing,
Take up a weeping on the mountains wild,
The gentle neighbourhood of grove and spring
Would foon unbofom all their echoes mild,
And I (for grief is eafily beguil'd)

50

Might think th' infection of my forrows loud Had got a race of mourners on fome pregnant cloud.

55

This fubject the Author finding to be above the years he had, when he wrote it, and nothing fatisfed with what was begun, left it unfinish'd.

F

V.

On TIME *.

LY envious Time, till thou run out thy race, Call on the lazy leaden-ftepping hours Whofe fpeed is but the heavy plummet's pace; And glut thyfelf with what thy womb devours,

* In thefe poems where no date is prefixed, and no circumstances direct to afcertain the time when they were compofed, the order of Milton's own editions is followed. Before this copy of verses, it appears from the author's manuscript, that he had written, To be fet on a clock-cafe.

Which is no more than what is false and vain,
And merely mortal drofs;

So little is our lofs

So little is thy gain.

For when as each thing bad thou haft intomb'd,
And last of all thy greedy felf consum'd,

Then long Eternity shall greet our blifs

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With an individual kiss;

And Joy fhall overtake us as a flood,

When every thing that is fincerely good

And perfectly divine,

With truth, and peace, and love, shall ever fhine

About the fupreme throne

Of him, t'whose happy-making fight alone

When once our heav'nly-guided foul fhall clime,
Then all this earthy grofness quit,

Attir'd with ftars, we shall for ever fit,

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Triumphing over Death, and Chance,and thee,OTime.

Y

VI.

Upon the CIRCUMCISION.

E flaming Pow'rs, and winged Warriors bright, That erft with mufic, and triumphant fong, First heard by happy watchful fhepherds ear, So fweetly fung your joy the clouds along Through the foft filence of the lift'ning night; Now mourn, and if sad share with us to bear Your fiery effence can diftil no tear,

Burn in your fighs, and borrow

Seas wept from our deep forrow:

He who with all Heav'n's heraldry whilere

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