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Peor and Baälim
Forsake their temples dim,

With that twice battered god of Palestine;
And moonéd Ashtaroth,
Heaven's queen and mother both,

Now sits not girt with taper's holy shine ;
The Lybic Hammon shrinks his horn,
In vain the Tyrian maids their wounded Thammuz 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.

delubra iam sublustria deserunt

Peorque Belusque et Syriae deus

quem stravit haud simplex ruina :


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cornua iam Libycus retraxit Ammon, iacentem iam Tyriae gemunt

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nec chorus ut quatiat laborans

circa caminum cymbala luridum,

rex torvus audit. par rapit Isidem,

par terror Horum, par Anubim,

Niliacae sacra monstra ripae.

Nor is Osiris seen

In Memphian grove or green,

Trampling the unshowered 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 timbrelled anthems dark

The sable-stoléd sorcerers bear his worshipped ark.

He feels from Juda's land
The dreaded Infant's hand,

The rays of Bethlehem blind his dusky cyn ;

Nor all the gods beside

Longer dare abide,

Not Typhon huge ending in snaky twine :

Our Babe, to show His Godhead true,

Can in His swaddling bands control the damnéd crew.

iam non Osirim, dum nemoris vias,

dum prata passu proterit arida,

miratur immugire Memphis :

cista deum premit inquietum imi premendum tegmine Tartari :

frustra, insonantes carmina tympanis

horrenda, ferali vehentes

veste magi venerantur arcam.

intendit Infans Iudaicis procul

surgens in oris attonito manum :

visus laborantes oborti

lux hebetat nova Bethlemitae :

nec ceteri iam di neque desinens Typhon in orbes anguineos manet :

testatur in cunis quis instet

ausa regens Puer impiorum.


So when the sun in bed,
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,
And the yellow-skirted fays
Fly after the night-steeds, leaving their moon-loved maze.


But see the Virgin blest
Hath laid her Babe to rest,

Time is our tedious song should here have ending.
Heaven's youngest-teeméd star
Hath fixed her polished car,

Her sleeping Lord with handmaid lamp attending : And all about the courtly stable


Bright-harnessed angels sit in order serviceable.


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