Yea, Truth and Justice then Will down return to men, Orb'd in a rainbow; and, like glories wearing, Mercy will 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.{39} XVI. But wisest Fate sayes no; This must not yet be so; The Babe lies yet in smiling infancy, That on the bitter cross{40} Must redeem our loss, So both himself and us to glorifie; Yet first to those ychain'd{41} in sleep The wakefull trump{42} of doom must thunder through the deep. XVII. With such a horrid clang As on Mount Sinai rang,{43} While the red fire and smould'ring clouds out brake; The aged Earth, agast, With terrour of that blast, Shall from the surface to the center shake; When at the worlds last session{44} The dreadfull Judge in middle air shall spread his throne. XVIII. And then at last our bliss Full and perfect is, But now begins; for from this happy day, Th' old Dragon{45} under ground, In straiter limits bound, Not half so far casts his usurped sway; And, wroth to see his kingdom fail, Swindges{46} the scaly horrour of his foulded tail. XIX. The oracles are dumm;{47} No voice or hideous humm Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving. Apollo from his shrine Can no more divine, With hollow shreik the steep of Delphos{48} leaving. No nightly trance, or breathed spell, Inspires the pale-ey'd Priest from the prophetic cell. XX. The lonely mountains o'er And the resounding shore A voice of weeping{49} heard and loud lament; From haunted spring and dale Edged with poplar pale The parting{50} Genius is with sighing sent; With floure-inwov'n tresses torn The nimphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets mourn. XXI. In consecrated earth, And on the holy hearth{51} The Lars and Lemures moan with midnight plaint In urns and altars round, A drear and dying sound Affrights the Flamins{52} at their service quaint And the chill marble seems to sweat, While each peculiar power forgoes{53} his wonted seat. XXII. Peor and Baälim{54} Forsake their temples dim, With that twise batter'd god{55} of Palestine; And mooned Ashtaroth, Heav'ns 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;{56} XXIII.