IT was the Winter wilde

    While the Heav'n-born-childe

    All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies；

    Nature in aw to him

    Had doff't her gawdy trim

    With her great Master so to sympathize：

    It was no season then for her

    To wanton with the Sun her lusty Paramour.

    Only with speeches fair

    She woo's the gentle Air

    To hide her guilty front with innocent Snow

    And on her naked shame

    Pollute with sinfull blame

    The Saintly Vail of Maiden to throw

    Confounded that her Makers eyes

    Should look so neer upon her foul deformities.

    But he her fears to cease

    Sent down the meek-eyd Peace

    She crown'd with Olive green came softly sliding

    Down through the turning sphear

    His ready Harbinger

    With Turtle wing the amorous clouds dividing

    And waving wide her mirtle wand

    She strikes a universall Peace through Sea and Land.

    No War or Battails sound

    Was heard the World around

    The idle spear and shield were high up hung；

    The hookèd Chariot stood

    Unstain'd with hostile blood

    The Trumpet spake not to the armèd throng

    And Kings sate still with awfull eye

    As if they surely knew their sovran Lord was by.

    But peacefull was the night

    Wherin the Prince of light

    His raign of peace upon the earth began：

    The Windes with wonder whist

    Smoothly the waters kist

    Whispering new joyes to the milde Ocean

    Who now hath quite forgot to rave

    While Birds of Calm sit brooding on the charmeèd wave.

    The Stars with deep amaze

    Stand fixt in stedfast gaze

    Bending one way their pretious influence

    And will not take their flight

    For all the morning light

    Or Lucifer that often warn'd them thence；

    But in their glimmering Orbs did glow

    Untill their Lord himself bespake and bid them go.

    And though the shady gloom

    Had given day her room

    The Sun himself with-held his wonted speed

    And hid his head for shame

    As his inferiour flame

    The new enlightn'd world no more should need；

    He saw a greater Sun appear

    Then his bright Throne or burning Axletree could bear.

    The Shepherds on the Lawn

    Or ere the point of dawn

    Sate simply chatting in a rustick row；

    Full little thought they than

    That the mighty Pan

    Was kindly com to live with them below；

    Perhaps their loves or els their sheep

    Was all that did their silly thoughts so busie keep.

    When such musick sweet

    Their hearts and ears did greet

    As never was by mortall finger strook

    Divinely-warbled voice

    Answering the stringèd noise

    As all their souls in blisfull rapture took

    The Air such pleasure loth to lose

    With thousand echo's still prolongs each heav'nly close.

    Nature that heard such sound

    Beneath the hollow round

    Of Cynthia's seat the Airy region thrilling

    Now was almost won

    To think her part was don

    And that her raign had here its last fulfilling；

    She knew such harmony alone

    Could hold all Heav'n and Earth in happier union.

    At last surrounds their sight

    A Globe of circular light

    That with long beams the shame-fac't night array'd

    The helmèd Cherubim

    And sworded Seraphim

    Are seen in glittering ranks with wings displaid

    Harping in loud and solemn quire

    With unexpressive notes to Heav'ns new-born Heir.

    Such musick （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-ballanc't world on hinges hung

    And cast the dark foundations deep

    And bid the weltring waves their oozy channel keep.

    Ring out ye Crystall sphears

    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 Heav'ns deep Organ blow

    And with your ninefold harmony

    Make up full consort to th'Angelike symphony.

    For if such holy Song

    Enwrap our fancy long

    Time will run back and fetch the age of gold

    And speckl'd vanity

    Will sicken soon and die

    And leprous sin will melt from earthly mould

    And Hell it self will pass away

    And leave her dolorous mansions to the peering day.

    Yea Truth and Justice then

    Will down return to men

    Th'enameld Arras of the Rain-bow wearing

    And Mercy set between

    Thron'd in Celestiall sheen

    With radiant feet the tissued clouds down stearing

    And Heav'n as at som festivall

    Will open wide the Gates of her high Palace Hall.

    But wisest Fate sayes no

    This must not yet be so

    The Babe lies yet in smiling Infancy

    That on the bitter cross

    Must redeem our loss；

    So both himself and us to glorifie：

    Yet first to those ychain'd in sleep

    The wakefull trump of doom must thunder through the deep

    With such a horrid clang

    As on mount Sinai rang

    While the red fire and smouldring clouds out brake：

    The agèd Earth agast

    With terrour of that blast

    Shall from the surface to the center shake；

    When at the worlds last session

    The dreadfull 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 usurpèd sway

    And wrath to see his Kingdom fail

    Swindges the scaly Horrour of his foulded tail.

    The Oracles are dumm

    No voice or hideous humm

    Runs through the archèd roof in words deceiving.

    Apollo from his shrine

    Can no more divine

    With hollow shreik the steep of Delphos leaving.

    No nightly trance or breathèd spell

    Inspire's the pale-ey'd Priest from the prophetic cell.

    The lonely mountains o're

    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 flowre-inwov'n tresses torn

    The Nimphs 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 Flamins 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 twise-batter'd god of Palestine

    And moonèd Ashtaroth

    Heav'ns Queen and Mother both

    Now sits not girt with Tapers holy shine

    The Libyc Hammon shrinks his horn

    In vain the Tyrian Maids their wounded Thamuz mourn.

    And sullen Moloch fled

    Hath left in shadows dred

    His burning Idol all of est hue

    In vain with Cymbals ring

    They call the grisly king

    In dismall dance about the furnace blue；

    The brutish gods of Nile as fast

    Isis and Orus and the Dog Anubis hast.

    Nor is Osiris seen

    In Memphian Grove or Green

    Trampling the unshowr'd Grasse with lowings loud：

    Nor can he be at rest

    Within his sacred chest

    Naught but profoundest Hell can be his shroud

    In vain with Timbrel'd Anthems dark

    The sable-stolèd Sorcerers bear his worshipt Ark.

    He feels from Juda's Land

    The dredded Infants hand

    The rayes 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 swadling bands controul the damnèd 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'infernall jail

    Each fetter'd Ghost slips to his severall grave

    And the blue-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'ns youngest teemèd Star

    Hath fixt her polisht Car

    Her sleeping Lord with Handmaid Lamp attending：

    And all about the Courtly Stable

    Bright-harnest Angels sit in order serviceable.