III.

He fov'ran Priest stooping 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!
Yet more; the ftroke of death he must abide,
Then lies him meekly down faft by his Brethrens fide.

IV.

These latter fcenes confine my roving verse,
To this Horizon is my Phebus bound;
His Godlike acts, and his temptations fierce,
And former sufferings, other where are found;
Loud o're the reft Cremona's Trump doth found;
Me fofter airs befit, and softer strings

Of Lute, or Viol ftill, more apt for mournful things,

Befriend me Night, beft Patronefs of grief,
Over the Pole thy thickest mantle throw,
And work my flatter'd fancy to belief,

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

The leaves fhould all be black whereon I write, And letters where my tears have waht a wannish white.

VI.

See see the Chariot, and those rushing wheels,
That whirl'd the Prophet up at Chebar flood,
My fpirit fome tranfporting Cherub feels,

To bear me where the Towers of Salem ftood,

Once glorious Towers, now funk in guiltless blood;

There doth my Soul in holy vision fit

In penfive trance, and anguish, and ecstatick fit,

VII.

Mine eye hath found that fad Sepulchral rock
That was the Casket of Heav'ns richest store,
And here though grief my feeble hands up lock,
Yet on the foftned 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 should I thence hurried on viewlefs wing,
Take up a weeping on the Mountains wild,
The gentle neighbourhood of grove and fpring
Would foon unbofom all their Echoes mild,
And I (for grief is easily beguil'd)

Might think th' infection of my forrows loud, Had got a race of mourners on fome pregnant cloud. This Subject the Author finding to bè above the years he had, when he wrote it, and nothing fatisfy'd with what was begun, left it unfinisht.

F

On TIM E.

LY envious Time, till thou run out thy race, Call on the lazy leaden ftepping hours, Whose speed is but the heavy Blummers pace; And glut thy felf with what thy womb devours,

Which is no more

ore than what is falfe and vain,

And meerly mortal drofs;

alga moy m mă

So little is our lofs,

So little is thy gain.

For when as each thing bad thou haft entomb'd,

And laft of all thy greedy felf confum'd,

odw SH

Then long Eternity fhall greet our blifs

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 fhall ever fhine

About the fupreme Throne

Of him, t'whofe happy-making fight alone,

When once our Heav'nly-guided Soul hall clime,
Then all this Earthy grofnefs quit,

Attir'd with Stars, we fhall for ever fit,

[Time.

Triumphing over Death, and Chance, and thee, O

:A

A

YE

Upon the Circumcifion.

E flaming Powers, and winged Warriours bright,
That erft with Musick, and triumphant Song,
Fift heard by happy watchful Shepherds ear,
So fweetly fung your Joy the Clouds along!
Through the foft filence of the lift'nnig night
Now mourn, and if fad share with us to bear
Your fiery effence can diftil no tear,

T

SH

I

Burn in your fighs, and borrow

02

He who with all Heav'ns heraldry whilear
Enter'd the World, now bleeds to give us cafes 107

Alas, how foon our fin

Sore doth begin

His Infancy to feafe!

O more exceeding love or law more juft?

Just law indeed, but more exceeding love ban For we by rightful doom remedilefs

Were loft in death, tiff he that dwelt above

High thron'd in fecret blifs, for us frail duft
Emptied his glory, evʼn to nakedness;

And that great Cov❜nant which we ftill tranfgrefs

Intirely fatisfed,

And the full wrath befide

Of vengeful Juftice bore for our excess,

And feals obedience firft with wounding fmart

This day, but O ere long

Huge pangs and strong

Will pierce more near his heart.

B

At a folemn Mufick.

Left pair of Sirens, pledges of Heav'ns joy, Sphear-born harmonious Sifters, Voice and Verfe, Wed your divine founds, and mixt power employ Dead things with inbreath'd fenfe able to pierce,

And to our high-rais'd phantafie prefent
That undisturbed Song of pure content,
Ay fung before the faphire-colour'd throne.
To him that fits thereon

With Saintly shout, and folemn Jubily,
Where the bright Seraphim in burning row
Their loud up-lifted Angel trumpets blow,
And the Cherubick hoft in thousand quires,
Touch their immortal Harps of golden wires,
With thofe juft Spirits that wear victorious Palms,
Hymns devote and holy Pfalms

Singing everlastingly;

That we on Earth with undifcording voice
May rightly answer that melodious noise;
As once we did, till disproportion'd fin
Jarr'd against nature's chime, and with harfh din
Broke the fair Mufick that all creatures made
To their great Lord, whofe love their motion sway'd
In perfect Diapafon, whilft they stood

In first obedience, and their state of good.

O may we foon again. renew that Song,

And keep in tune with Heav'n, till God ere long To his celeftial confort us unite,

To live with him, and sing in endless morn of light.