And the chill marble seems to sweat, While each peculiar Power foregoes his wonted seat. Peor and Baalim XXII. Forsake their temples dim With that twice-batter'd god of Palestine ; And mooned Ashtaroth, Heaven's queen and mother both, Now sits not girt with tapers holy shine; The Lybic Hammon shrinks his horn, 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; In vain with cymbals ring, 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. Nor is Osiris seen XXIV. In Memphian grove or green, Trampling the unshower'd grass with lowings loud : Nor can he be at rest Within his sacred chest, Naught but profoundest Hell can be his shroud; In vain with timbrel'd anthems dark The sable-stoled sorcerers bear his worshipp'd ark. XXV. He feels from Judah's land The dreaded Infant's hand, The rays of Bethlehem blind his dusky eyne; Nor all the gods besides, Longer dare abide, Not Typhon huge ending in snaky twine: Our Babe, to show his Godhead true, Can in his swaddling bands control the damned crew, XXVI. So when the sun in bed, Curtain'd with cloudy red, Pillows his chin upon an orient wave, The flocking shadows pale Troop to th' infernal jail, Each fetter'd ghost slips to his several grave; And the yellow-skirted fays Fly after the night steeds, leaving their moon-lov'd maze. XXVII. But see, the Virgin-bless'd Hath laid her Babe to rest. Time is, our tedious song should here have ending: Heaven's youngest-teemed star Hath fix'd her polish'd car, Her sleeping Lord with handmaid lamp attending: And all about the courtly stable Bright-harness'd angels sit in order serviceable. THE PASSION.* I. EREWHILE of music, and etherial mirth, *This poem appears to have been composed soon after the Ode on the Nativity. My Muse with Angels did divide to sing; In wintry solstice like the shorten'd light For now to sorrow must I tune my song, Most perfect Hero, tried in heaviest plight Of labours huge and hard, too hard for human weight! III. He, sovereign Priest, stooping his regal head, His starry front low-roof'd beneath the skies; Yet more; the stroke of death he must abide, Then lies him meekly down fast by his brethren's side. IV. These latest scenes confine my roving verse; Of lute or viol still, more apt for mournful things. V. Befriend me, Night, best patroness of grief; That Heaven and Earth are colour'd with my wo; P 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, In pensive trance, and anguish, and ecstatic fit. VII. Mine eye hath found that sad sepulchral rock For sure so well instructed are my tears, VIII. Or should I thence hurried on viewless wing, Might think th' infection of my sorrows loud This subject the Author finding to be above the years he had, when he wrote it, and nothing satisfied with what was begun, left it unfinished. ON TIME.* FLY, envious Time, till thou run out thy race; Whose speed is but the heavy plummet's pace; So little is our loss, So little is thy gain! For when as each thing bad thou hast entomb'd, Then long Eternity shall greet our bliss With an individual kiss; And Joy shall overtake us as a flood, And perfectly divine, With Truth, and Peace, and Love, shall ever shine About the supreme throne Of Him, to whose happy-making sight alone When once our heavenly guided souls shall climb, Then, all this earthly grossness quit, Attir'd with stars, we shall for ever sit, Triumphing over Death, and Chance, and thee, O Time! UPON THE CIRCUMCISION. YE flaming Powers, and winged warriors bright, *In these poems where no date is prefixed, and no circumstances direct us to ascertain the time when they were composed, we follow the order of Milton's own editions. And before this copy of verses it appears, from the manuscript, that the poet had written, To be set on a clock-case. |