Heaven's golden-wingèd herald, late he saw To a poore Galilean virgin sent: How low the bright youth bow'd, and with what awe Immortall flowers to her faire hand present. He saw th' old Hebrewe's wombe, neglect the law Of age and barrennesse, and her babe prevent _anticipate_ His birth by his devotion, who began Betimes to be a saint, before a man. XIV. He saw rich nectar-thawes, release the rigour Of th' icy North; from frost-bound Atlas hands, His adamantine fetters fall: green vigour Gladding the Scythian rocks and Libian sands. He saw a vernall smile, sweetly disfigure Winter's sad face, and through the flowry lands Of faire Engaddi, hony-sweating fountaines With manna, milk, and balm, new-broach the mountaines. XV. He saw how in that blest Day-bearing Night, The Heav'n-rebukèd shades made hast away; How bright a dawne of angels with new light Amaz'd the midnight world, and made a Day Of which the Morning knew not. Mad with spight He markt how the poore shepheards ran to pay Their simple tribute to the Babe, Whose birth Was the great businesse both of Heav'n and Earth. XVI. He saw a threefold Sun, with rich encrease Make proud the ruby portalls of the East. He saw the Temple sacred to sweet Peace, Adore her Prince's birth, flat on her brest. He saw the falling idolls, all confesse A comming Deity: He saw the nest Of pois'nous and unnaturall loves, Earth-nurst, Toucht with the World's true antidote, to burst. XVII. He saw Heav'n blossome with a new-borne light, On which, as on a glorious stranger gaz'd The golden eyes of Night: whose beame made bright The way to Beth'lem and as boldly blaz'd, (Nor askt leave of the sun) by day as night. By whom (as Heav'ns illustrious hand-maid) rais'd, Three kings (or what is more) three wise men went Westward to find the World's true orient. XVIII. Strucke with these great concurrences of things, Symptomes so deadly unto Death and him; Faine would he have forgot what fatall strings Eternally bind each rebellious limbe. He shooke himselfe, and spread his spatious wings: Which like two bosom'd sailes, embrace the dimme Aire, with a dismall shade; but all in vaine: Of sturdy adamant is his strong chaine. XIX. While thus Heav'n's highest counsails, by the low Footsteps of their effects, he trac'd too well, He tost his troubled eyes: embers that glow Now with new rage, and wax too hot for Hell: With his foule clawes he fenc'd his furrowed brow, And gave a gastly shreeke, whose horrid yell Ran trembling through the hollow vaults of Night, The while his twisted tayle he gnaw'd for spight. XX.