ODES.

ON THE

MORNING

OF

CHRIST'S NATIVITY.*

WRITTEN IN 1629.

THIS is the month, and this the happy morn
Wherein the Son of Heaven's Eternal King,
Of wedded maid and virgin mother born,
Our great redemption from above did bring;
For so the holy sages once did sing,

That he our deadly forfeit should release, And with his Father work us a perpetual peace.

That glorious form, that light unsufferable,
And that far-beaming blaze of majesty,
Wherewith he wont at Heaven's high council-table
To sit the midst of Trinal-Unity,

He laid aside; and, here with us to be,

*This Ode, in which the many learned allusions are highly poetical, was probably composed as a college exercise at Cambridge, our author being now only twenty-one years old,

Warton.

Forsook the courts of everlasting day,

And chose with us a darksome house of mortal clay.

Say, heavenly muse, shall not thy sacred vein
Afford a present to the Infant-God?

Hast thou no verse, no hymn, or solemn strain,
To welcome him to this his new abode,

Now while the heaven, by the sun's team untrod,
Hath took no print of the approaching light,
And all the spangled host keep watch in squadrons
bright?

See, how from far, upon the eastern road,
The star-led wizards haste with odours sweet:
O run, prevent them with thy humble ode,
And lay it lowly at his blessed feet;

Have thou the honour first thy Lord to greet,

And join thy voice unto the angel-quire,
From out his secret altar touch'd with hallow'd fire.

THE HYMN,

IT was the winter wild,

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 wooes 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 white 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 an universal peace through sea and land.

No war, or battle's sound,

Was heard the world around:

The idle spear and shield were high up hung; The hooked chariot stood

Unstain'd with hostile blood;

The trumpet spake not to the armed throng;

And kings sat still with awful eye,

As if they surely knew their sovereign 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 ocean;
Who now hath quite forgot to rave,

While birds of calm sit brooding on the charmed

wave.

The stars, with deep amaze,
Stand fix'd in stedfast 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
[bear.
Than his bright throne, or burning axletree, could

The shepherds on the lawn,

Or ere the point of dawn,

•

Sat simply chatting in a rustic row;

Full little thought they then,.
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 stringed noise,

As all their souls in blissful rapture took:
The air, such pleasure loth to lose,
[close.
With thousand echoes still prolongs each heavenly
B b

VOL. VII.

Nature, that heard such sound,
Beneath the hollow round

Of Cynthia's seat, the aëry 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 shamefac'd night ar-
The helmed Cherubim,
[ray'd;
And sworded Seraphim,

Are seen in glittering ranks with wings display'd, Harping in loud and solemn quire, [Heir. With unexpressive notes, to Heaven's new-born

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-balanc'd 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 base of Heaven's deep organ blow;

And, with your ninefold harmony,

Make up full consort to the' angelic symphony.