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Time will run back, and fetch the age of gold; 135
And leprous Sin will melt from earthly mould;
Yea Truth, and Justice then
buelede Orb'd in a rainbow; and like glories wearing
Mercy will sit between,
So both himself and us to glorify:
While the red fire and smouldring clouds out brake:
160 With terror of that blast,
Shall from the surface to the centre shake;
18. And then at last our bliss
But now begins; for from this happy day
to case No voice or hideous hum from the time of the birth of
Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving. 175 6trit
With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving.
A voice of weeping heard, and loud lament;
A drear and dying sound
195 While each peculiar power forgoes his wonted seat. priest
EARLY POEMS, 1624–1637.
With that twice-batter'd god of Palestine;da 70.
mai Heav'ns queen and mother both,
aphor tiles Now sits not girt with tapers' holy shine ; to looyitä The Libyc Hammon shrinks his horn, dily In vain the Tyrian maids their wounded Thammuz mourn.
23, And sullen Moloch fled, vee ustes
His burning idol all of blackest hue;
In dismal dance about the furnace blue;
thed kun god
In Memphian grove, or green, there
Trampling the unshowr'd grass with lowings loud; 215 bille rain Nor can he be at rest
Within his sacred chest,
Naught but profoundest Hell can be his shroud;
He feels from Juda's land
The rays of Bethlehem blind his dusky eyn;
26. So when the sun in bed, Curtain'd with cloudy red,
230 Pillows his chin upon an orient wave;
eastern The flocking shadows pale Troop to th’ infernal jail,
Each fetter'd ghost slips to his several grave; And the yellow-skirted fays
235 Fly after the night-steeds, leaving their moon-lov'd maze.
27. But see the Virgin blest, Hath laid her Babe to rest.
Time is our tedious song should here have ending: Heav'ns youngest teemed star,
240 Hath fixt her polisht car,
Her sleeping Lord with handmaid lamp attending.
UPON THE CIRCUMCISION.
His infancy to seize !
O more exceeding love, or law more just ?
Will pierce more near his heart.
Most perfect hero, tri'd in heaviest plight Of labours huge and hard, too hard for human wight! He sovran priest, stooping his regal head
15 That dropt with odorous oil down his fair eyes, Poor fleshly tabernacle entered, His starry front low-rooft beneath the skies; o what a mask was there, what a disguise !