While the heaven-born Child
All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies；
Nature in awe to Him
Had doff'd her gaudy 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 woos the gentle air
To hide her guilty front with innocent snow；
And on her naked shame
Pollute with sinful blame
The saintly veil of maiden #CCCCFF to throw；
Confounded that her Maker's eyes
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 hookèd chariot stood
Unstain'd with hostile blood；
The trumpet spake not to the armèd 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 oceàn—
Who now hath quite forgot to rave
While birds of calm sit brooding on the charmèd wave.
The stars with deep amaze
Stand fix'd in steadfast gaze
Bending one way their precious 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
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；
He saw a greater Sun appear
Than his bright throne or burning axle-tree could bear.
The shepherds on the lawn
Or ere the point of dawn
Sate simply chatting in a rustic row；
Full little thought they than
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—
Divinely-warbled voice
Answering the stringèd noise
As all their souls in blissful rapture took：
The air such pleasure loth to lose
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
Now was almost won
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 helmèd Cherubim
And sworded Seraphim
Are seen in glittering ranks with wings display'd
Harping in loud and solemn quire
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 bass of heaven's deep organ blow；
And with your ninefold harmony
Make up full consort to the angelic symphony.
For if such holy song
Enwrap our fancy long
Time will run back and fetch the age of gold；
And speckled Vanity
Will sicken soon and die
And leprous Sin will melt from earthly mould；
And Hell itself will pass away
And leave her dolorous mansions to the peering day.
Yea Truth and Justice then
Will down return to men
Orb'd in a rainbow； and like glories wearing
Mercy will sit between
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
That on the bitter cross
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 sessiòn
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
The old Dragon under ground
In straiter limits bound
Not half so far casts his usurpèd sway；
And wroth to see his kingdom fail
Swinges the scaly horror of his folded tail.
The Oracles are dumb；
No voice or hideous hum
Runs through the archèd roof in words deceiving.
Apollo from his shrine
Can no more divine
With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving：
No nightly trance or breathèd 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；
From haunted spring and dale
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 Lemurès 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 foregoes his wonted seat.
Peor and Baalim
Forsake their temples dim
With that twice-batter'd god of Palestine；
And moonèd Ashtaroth
Heaven's queen and mother both
Now sits not girt with tapers' 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 #CCCCFFest 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.
Nor is Osiris seen
In Memphian grove or green
Trampling the unshower'd 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 timbrell'd anthems dark
The sable-stolèd sorcerers bear his worshipt ark.
He feels from Juda's land
The dreaded Infant's hand；
The rays of Bethlehem blind his dusky eyn；
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 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 the infernal jail
Each fetter'd ghost slips to his several grave；
And the blue-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-teemèdstar
Hath fix'd her polish'd car
Her sleeping Lord with hand-maid lamp attending：
And all about the courtly stable
Bright-harness'd Angels sit in order serviceable.