| |
IT was the winter wild, | |
| While the heaven-born child | |
| All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies; | |
| Nature, in awe to him, | |
| Had doffed her gaudy trim, | 5 |
| 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 wooes the gentle air | 10 |
| To hide her guilty front with innocent snow; | |
| And on her naked shame, | |
| Pollute with sinful blame, | |
| The saintly veil of maiden white to throw; | |
| Confounded, that her Maker’s eyes | 15 |
| Should look so near upon her foul deformities. | |
| |
| But he, her fears to cease, | |
| Sent down the meek-eyed Peace: | |
| She, crowned with olive-green, came softly sliding | |
| Down through the turning sphere, | 20 |
| 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, | 25 |
| Was heard the world around: | |
| The idle spear and shield were high uphung; | |
| The hookéd chariot stood | |
| Unstained with hostile blood; | |
| The trumpet spake not to the armed throng; | 30 |
| 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: | 35 |
| The winds, with wonder whist, | |
| Smoothly the waters kist, | |
| Whispering new joys to the mild ocean, | |
| Who now hath quite forgot to rave, | |
| While birds of calm sit brooding on the charmed wave. | 40 |
| |
| The stars, with deep amaze, | |
| Stand fixed in steadfast gaze. | |
| Bending one way their precious influence; | |
| And will not take their flight, | |
| For all the morning light, | 45 |
| Or Lucifer, that often warned 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, | 50 |
| The sun himself withheld his wonted speed; | |
| And hid his head for shame, | |
| As his inferior flame | |
| The new-enlightened world no more should need: | |
| He saw a greater sun appear | 55 |
| Than his bright throne, or burning axletree could bear. | |
| |
| The shepherds on the lawn, | |
| Or e’er the point of dawn, | |
| Sat simply chatting in a rustic row; | |
| Full little thought they then, | 60 |
| 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 | 65 |
| Their hearts and ears did greet, | |
| As never was by mortal finger strook; | |
| Divinely warbled voice | |
| Answering the stringed noise, | |
| As all their souls in blissful rapture took | 70 |
| The air, such pleasure loath to lose, | |
| With thousand echoes still prolongs each heavenly close. | |
| |
| Nature, that heard such sound, | |
| Beneath the hollow round | |
| Of Cynthia’s seat, the aery region thrilling, | 75 |
| 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. | 80 |
| |
| At last surrounds their sight | |
| A globe of circular light, | |
| That with long beams the shamefaced night arrayed; | |
| The helmed Cherubim, | |
| And sworded Seraphim, | 85 |
| Are seen in glittering ranks with wings displayed, | |
| Harping in loud and solemn choir, | |
| With unexpressive notes, to Heaven’s new-born Heir. | |
| |
| Such music, as ’t is said, | |
| Before was never made, | 90 |
| 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, | 95 |
| 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 | 100 |
| 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. * * * * * | |
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