See how from far, upon the eastern road, The star-led wizards haste with odours sweet : Have thou the honour first thy Lord to greet, And join thy voice unto the angel quire From out His secret altar touch'd with hallow'd fire. THE HYMN It was the winter wild While the heaven-born Child All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies; Had doff'd her gaudy trim, With her great Master so to sympathize: To wanton with the sun, her lusty paramour. Only with speeches fair She woos the gentle air To hide her guilty front with innocent snow; Pollute with sinful blame, The saintly veil of maiden white to throw; Should look so near upon her foul deformities. But He, her fears to cease, Sent down the meek-eyed Peace; She, crown'd with olive green, came softly sliding Down through the turning sphere, His ready harbinger, With turtle wing the amorous clouds dividing; And waving wide her myrtle wand, She strikes a universal peace through sea and land. No war, or battle's sound Was heard the world around: The idle spear and shield were high uphung ; The hooked chariot stood Unstain'd with hostile blood; The trumpet spake not to the arméd throng; And kings sat still with awful eye, As if they surely knew their sovran Lord was by. But peaceful was the night Wherein the Prince of Light His reign of peace upon the earth began: The winds, with wonder whist, Smoothly the waters kist Whispering new joys to the mild oceán Who now hath quite forgot to rave, While birds of calm sit brooding on the charméd wave. The stars, with deep amaze, Bending one way their precious influence; For all the morning light, Or Lucifer that often warn'd them thence; But in their glimmering orbs did glow Until their Lord Himself bespake, and bid them go. And though the shady gloom Had given day her room, The sun himself withheld his wonted speed, And hid his head for shame, As his inferior flame The new-enlighten'd world no more should need : Than his bright throne, or burning axletree, could The shepherds on the lawn Or ere the point of dawn Sate simply chatting in a rustic row; Full little thought they then That the mighty Pan Was kindly come to live with them below; Perhaps their loves, or else their sheep Was all that did their silly thoughts so busy keep. When such music sweet Their hearts and ears did greet As never was by mortal finger strook- Answering the stringéd noise, As all their souls in blissful rapture took : With thousand echoes still prolongs each heavenly close. Nature that heard such sound Beneath the hollow round Of Cynthia's seat the airy region thrilling, To think her part was done, And that her reign had here its last fulfilling ; She knew such harmony alone Could hold all heaven and earth in happier union. At last surrounds their sight A globe of circular light That with long beams the shamefaced night array'd; The helméd Cherubim And sworded Seraphim Are seen in glittering ranks with wings display'd, With unexpressive notes, to Heaven's new-born Heir. Such music (as 'tis said) Before was never made But when of old the sons of morning sung, While the Creator great His constellations set And the well-balanced world on hinges hung; And cast the dark foundations deep, And bid the weltering waves their oozy channel keep. Ring out, ye crystal spheres ! Once bless our human ears, If ye have power to touch our senses so ; And let your silver chime Move in melodious time; And let the base of heaven's deep organ blow; And with your ninefold harmony Make up full consort to the angelic symphony. For if such holy song Time will run back, and fetch the age of gold; Will sicken soon and die, And leprous sin will melt from earthly mould; And leave her dolorous mansions to the peering Yea, Truth and Justice then Will down return to men, Orb'd in a rainbow; and, like glories wearing, Throned in celestial sheen, With radiant feet the tissued clouds down steering; And Heaven, as at some festival, Will open wide the gates of her high palace hall. But wisest Fate says No; This must not yet be so ; The Babe yet lies in smiling infancy Must redeem our loss; So both Himself and us to glorify: Yet first, to those ychain'd in sleep The wakeful trump of doom must thunder through the deep; 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 sessión, 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 In straiter limits bound, Not half so far casts his usurpéd sway; The oracles are dumb ; No voice or hideous hum Runs through the archéd roof in words deceiving : Apollo from his shrine Can no more divine, With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving: No nightly trance or breathéd 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; Edged 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 Lemurés 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 Power forgoes his wonted seat. Peor and Baalim Forsake their temples dim, With that twice-batter'd god of Palestine; |