With such a horrid clang As on mount Sinai rang, While the red fire and smouldering clouds outbrake; The aged Earth aghast, With terror of that blast, Shall from the surface to the centre shake; When at the world's last session, The dreadful Judge in middle air shall spread his throne. And then at last our bliss Full and perfect is, But now begins; for from this happy day, Th' old Dragon under ground In straiter limits bound, Not half so far casts his usurped sway, And wroth to see his kingdom fail, 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 steep of Delphos leaving. No nightly trance or breathed spell Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell. The lonely mountains o'er, And the resounding shore, A voice of weeping heard and loud lament, From haunted spring and dale Edg'd 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 And on the holy hearth, 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 pow'r foregoes his wonted seat. Peor and Baälim Forsake their temples dim, With that twice batter'd god of Palestine; And mooned Ashtaroth, Heav'n'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 Thammus mourn. 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 In Memphian grove or green, Trampling the unshow'r'd 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 timbrel'd anthems dark, The sable-stoled sorcerers bear his worshipt ark. 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 shew his Godhead true, Can in his swaddling bands control 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 ghost slips to his several grave, And the yellow-skirted Fayes Fly after the night-steeds, leaving their moon-lov'd maze. But see 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 sit in order serviceable. A PRAYER, IN THE PROSPECT OF DEATH. [BURNS.] O THOU unknown, Almighty cause, If I have wander'd in those paths Thou know'st that thou hast formed me Where human weakness has come short, Or frailty stept aside, Do thou, All-Good! for such thou art, In shades of darkness hide. Where with intention I have err'd, No other plea I have, But, Thou art good: and goodness still Delighteth to forgive. N STANZAS ON THE SAME OCCASION. [BURNS.] WHY am I loth to leave this earthly scene? Or death's unlovely, dreary, dark abode? And justly smart beneath his sin-avenging rod. Fain would I say, 'Forgive my foul offence!' Again exalt the brute and sink the man; Who act so counter heavenly mercy's plan? Who sin so oft have mourn'd, yet to temptation ran? O Thou, great Governor of all below! If I may dare a lifted eye to Thee, With that controlling power assist ev'n me, To rule their torrent in th' allowed line; |