XXVI.

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 Fayes Fly after the night-steeds, leaving their moon-loved maze.

XXVII.

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

Time is our tedious song should here have ending;

Heaven's youngest-teemèd 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.

MILTON.

THE ANGELS.

RUN, shepherds, run where Bethlehem blest appears.

We bring the best of news; be not dismayed:

A Saviour there is born more old than years,

Amidst heaven's rolling height this earth who stayed.

In a poor cottage inned, a virgin maid

A weakling did him bear, who all upbears;

There is he poorly swaddled, in manger laid,

To whom too narrow swaddlings are our spheres:

Run, shepherds, run, and solemnize his birth.

This is that night-no, day, grown great with bliss,

In which the power of Satan broken

is:

In heaven be glory, peace unto the earth!

Thus singing, through the air the angels swarm,

And cope of stars re-echoèd the

same.

THE SHEPHERDS.

O THAN the fairest day, thrice fairer

night!

Night to best days, in which a sun

doth rise

Of which that Golden eye which clears the skies

Is but a sparkling ray, a shadow light! And blessed ye, in silly pastors' sight, Wild creátures in whose warm crib now lies

That heaven-sent youngling, holy maid-born wight, 'Midst, end, beginning of our prophecies!

Blest cottage that hath flowers in winter spread! Though withered, - blessed grass, that hath the grace

To deck and be a carpet to that place! Thus sang unto the sounds of oaten reed,

Before the Babe, the shepherds bowed

on knees;

And springs ran nectar, honey dropped from trees.

DRUMMOND.