« PreviousContinue »
In consecrated Earth,
And on the holy Hearth,
Th' Lares and Lemures moan with midnight plaint ;
In Urns, and Altars round,
A drear and dying found
Affrights the Flamins at their service quaint;
And the chill Marble seems to sweat,
While each peculiar Pow'r forgoes his wonted feat.
Peor and Baalim
Forsake their Temples dim,
With that twice batter'd god of Palestine ;
And mooned Ashtaroth,
Heav'n's Queen and Mother both,
Now fits not girt with Taper's holy shine ;
The Libyc Hammon shrinks his horn;
In vain the Tyrian Maids their wounded Thammum
And sullen Moloch fled,
Hath left in shadows dread
His burning Idol all of blackest hue;
In vain, with Cymbals ring,
They call the griefly King,
In dismal dance about the furnace blue;
The brutish gods of Nile as faft,
Isis and Orus, and the Dog Anubis, hafte.
Nor is Ojāris seen,
In Memphian Grove, or Green,
Trampling the unshowr'd Grass with lowings loud :
Nor can he be at reft
Within his facred cheft ;
Nought but profoundest Hell can be his shroud:
In vain with timbrel'd Anthems dark
The sable-stoled Sorc'rers bear his worshipp'd Ark.
He feels from uda'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 fnaky twine :
Our Babe, to shew his Godhead true,
Can in his swadling bands controul the damned crew,
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 Ghoft nips to his several grave;
And the yellow-skirted Fayes
Fly after the Night-steeds, leaving their Moon-lov'd maze.
But fee! the Virgin blest
Hath laid her Babe to rest ;
Time is our tedious Song should here have ending;
Heav'n'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-harnest Angels fit in order serviceable.
On the Death of a fair Infant, a Nepkeves
of his, dying of a Cough.
Fairest flower, no sooner blown but blasted,
Soft filken Primrose fading timelesly,
Summer's chief Honour, if thou hadft out-lafted
Bleak winter's force that made thy blossom drie;
For he being amorous on that lovely die,
That did thy cheek envermeil, thought to kiss,
But kill'd, alas! and then tewail'd his fatal bliss.,
For since grim Aquilo his charioteer
By boil'rous rape the Athenian damsel got;
He thought it toucht his Deity full near,
If likewise he some fair one wedded not,
Thereby to wipe away th' infamous blot
Of long-uncoupled bed, and childless eld,
Which ’mongst the wanton Gods a foul reproach was held.
So mounting up in icy-pearled carr,
Through middle empire of the freezing air
He wander'd long, till thee he spy'd from-far,
There ended was his quest, there ceas'd his care :
Down he descended from his Snow-soft chair ;
But all unwares with his cold-kind embrace
Unhous'd thy Virgin Soul from her fair biding-place.
Yet art thou not inglorious in thy fate;
For fo Apoll, with unweeting hand,
Whilom did say his dearly-loved mate,
Young Hyacinth born on Eurota's strand,
Young Hyacinth, the pride of Spartan land ;
But then transform'd him to a purple flower: Alack! that so to change thee winter had no power.
Yet can I not persuade me thou art dead,
Or that thy coarse corrupts in earth's dark womb,
Or that thy beauties lie in wormie bed,
Hid from the World in a low delved tomb;
Could Heav'n for pity thee so strictly doom?
Oh no! for something in thy face did shine
Above mortality, that thew'd thou wast divine.
Resolve me then, oh Soul moft surely blest,
(If so it be that thou thefe plaints doft hear)
Tell me bright Spirit where-e'er thou hovereit,
Whether above that high first-moving Sphere,
Or in th' El fian fields (if such there were ;)
O say me true, if thou wert mortal wight,
And why from us so quickly thou didst take thy flight.
Wert thou fome Star, which from the ruin'd roof
Of Thak'd Olympus by mischance didft fall;
With careful fove in Nature's true behoof
Took up, and in fit place did reinstal?
Or did of late earth's Sons besiege the wall
Of fheenie Heav'n, and thou some goddess fled,
Amongst us here below to hide thy nectar'd head ?
Or wert thou that just Maid, who once before
Forsook'st the hated earth, O tell me sooth,
And cam'st again to visit us once more ?
Or wert thou that sweet smiling Youth ?
Or that crown'd Matron, fage white-robed Truth?
Or any other of that Heav'nly brood,
Let down in cloudy throne to do the World some good?
Or wert thou of the golden-winged hoft,
Who, having clad thyself in human weed,
To earth from thy prefixed seat didit post,
And after short abode fly back with speed,
As if to shew what creatures Heav'n doth breed;
Thereby to set the hearts of men on fire
To fcorn the fordid world, and unto Heav'n aspire ?
But oh! why didst thou not stay here below
To bless us with thy Heav'n-lov’d innocence,
To slake his wrath, whom sin hath made our foe,
To turn swift-rushing black perdition hence,
Or drive away the slaughtering peftilence,
To stand 'twixt us and our deserved smart?
But thou canst best perform that office where thou art,
Then thou, the Mother of so sweet a Child,
The false imagin'd loss cease to lament,
And wisely learn to curb thy forrows wild ;
Think what a present thou to God haft sent,
And render, him with patience what he lent;
This if thou do, he will an off-spring give,
That till the World's last end fhall make thy name to live,
Anno ætatis 19. At a Vacation Exercise in
the College, part Latin, part Englisn. The Latin Speeches ended, the English thus began.
Didit move my first endeavouring tongue to speak, And mad'st imperfect words with childifh trips, Half unpronounc'd, slide through my infant lips, Driving dumb silence from the portal door, Where he had mutely fat two years before: Here I salute thee, and thy pardon ask, That now I use thee in my latter task :