XXVI. So, when the sun in bed,79 Curtained with cloudy red, Pillows his chin upon an Orient wave, The flocking shadows pale Troop to the infernal jail, Each fettered ghost slips to his several grave,8 And the yellow-skirted fays81 80 Fly after the night-steeds,82 leaving their moon-loved maze. XXVII. But see! the Virgin blest Hath laid her Babe to rest. Time is our tedious song should here have ending: Heaven's youngest-teemèd star83 Hath fixed84 her polished car, Her sleeping Lord with handmaid lamp attending; And all about the courtly stable Bright-harnessed85 angels sit in order serviceable.86 4 |