Altars rais'd of Turf or Stone,
Will th'infernal Pow'rs have none.
Is the Sacrifice made fit?
Draw her backward to the Pit:
Draw the barren Heifer back;
Barren let her be, and black.
Cut the curled Hair that grows
Full between her Horns and Brows:
Pour in Blood, and blood-like Wine,
To Mether-Earth and Proferpine.
Mingle Milk into the Stream,
Feaft the Ghofts that love the Steam.
Snatch a Brand from fun'ral Pile,
Tofs it in to make 'em boil.
And turn your Faces from the Sun.
Answer me if all be done?
His finny Train Saturnian Neptune joins;
Then adds the foamy Bridles to their Jaws,
And to the loofen'd Reins permits the Laws.
High on the Waves his azure Car he guides,
Its Axles thunder, and the Sea fubfides,
And the smooth Ocean rouls her filent Tides.
The Tempefts fly before their Father's Face,
Trains of inferiour Gods his Triumph grace;
And Monster-Whales before their Mafter play,
And Quires of Tritons crowd the watry Way.
The marshal'd Pow'rs in equal Troops divide
To Right and Left; the Gods his better Side
Inclofe, and on the worfe the Nymphs and Nereids ride. Dryd.
When thus the Father of the Flood appears,
And o'er the Seas his fov'raign Trident rears,
Their Fury falls; he skims the liquid Plains,
High on his Chariot, and with loofen'd Reins
Majeftick moves along, and awful Peace maintains.
Darkness now rofe, and brought in louring Night, Her fhadowy Off-fpring, unfubftantial both,
Privation meer of Light, and abfent Day.
With her black Wings to brood o'er all the World.
And now from End to End
Night's Hemifphere had veil'd th'Horizon round.
Now Night advancing, draws her fable Train
Along the Air, and fhades th'ethereal Plain.
The Night began to fpread her gloomy Veil,
And call'd the counted Sheep from ev'ry Dale:
The weaker Light unwillingly declin'd,
(Virg. And to prevailing Shades the murm'ring World refign'd. Rofc. Soon as with gentle Sighs the ev'ning Breeze Begun to whisper thro' the murm'ring Trees; And Night had wrapt in Shades the Mountains Heads, While Winds lay hufh'd in fubterranean Beds. Now Night had fhed her filver Dews around, And with her fable Wings embrac'd the Ground. Now had the Sun withdrawn his radiant Light, And Hills were hid in dusky Shades of Night.
New decks the Face of Heav'n with ftarry Light.
Now her brown Wings the filent Night difplays,
Night, fprinkled o'er with Cynthia's filver Rays:
Silence and Darkness all to Reft invite,
And Sleep's foft Chains make faft the Gates of Light.
Mean while the rapid Heav'ns roul'd down the Light,
And on the fhaded Ocean rufh'd the Night.
'Twas at an Hour when bufy Nature lay
Diffolv'd in Slumbers from the noisy Day:
When gloomy Shades and dusky Atoms spread
A Darkness o'er the univerfal Bed;
And all the gawdy Beams of Light were fled.
And now the Night does her black Throne afcend,
And dusky Shades her filent State attend:
While pale-fac'd Cynthia with her starry Train
Dart down their trembling Luftre on the Main ;
The weary Lab'rers their ftiff Limbs repose,
And Sleep's foft Hands their drowfy Eyelids clofe.
When the ftill Night with peaceful Poppies crown'd,
Had fpread her fhady Pinions o'er the Ground;
And flumb'ring Chiefs of painted Triumphs dream,
While Groves and Streams are the foft Virgin's Theme;
The Surges gently dash against the Shore,
Flocks quit the Plains, and Galley-flaves the Oar:
Sleep fhakes its downy Wings o'er mortal Eyes.
'Tis Night; the Seafon when the Happy take
Repofe, and only Wretches are awake:
Now difcontented Ghosts begin their Rounds,
Haunt ruin'd Buildings and unwholfom Grounds;
Or at the Curtains of the Restless wait,
To frighten 'em with fome fad Tale of Fate:
The Sun grew low, and left the Skies,
Put down, fome fay, by Ladies Eyes;
The Moon pull'd off her Veil of Light,
That hides her Face by Day from Sight:
(Myfterious Veil, of Brightness made,
That's both her Luftre and her Shade)
And in the Night as freely fhone,
As if her Rays had been her own:
For Darkness is the proper Sphere,
Where all falfe Glories ufe t'appear.
The twinkling Stars began to mufter,
And glitter with their borrow'd Luftre:
While Sleep the weary'd World reliev'd,
By counterfeiting Death reviv'd.
For Night's the Sabbath of Mankind,
To reft the Body and the Mind.
Midnight.
The Night proceeding on with filent Pace,
Stood in her Noon, and view'd with equal Face
Her freepy Rife and her declining Race."
The Steeds of Night had travell'd half the Sky.
Now had Night meafur'd with her shadowy Cone
Half way up Hill this vaft fublunar Vault.
It was a Time when the ftill Moon
Was mounted foftly to her Noon.
Now all is hufh'd, as Nature were retir'd,
And the perpetual Motion ftanding ftill;
So much the from her Work appears to ceafe,
And ev'ry warring Element's at Peace :
All the wild Herds are in their Coverts couch'd,
The Fishes to their Banks or Ooze repair'd,
And to the Murmurs of the Waters fleep:
The feeling Air's at Reft, and feels no Noife,
Except of fome fhort Breaths upon the Trees,
Rocking the harmless Birds that reft upon them.
'Twas ftill low Ebb of Night, when not a Star
Was twinkling in the muffled Hemisphere;
But all around in horrid Darkness mourn'd,
As if old Chaos were again return'd;
When not one Gleam of the eternal Light
Shot thro' the folid Darkness of the Night:
In difmal Silence Nature feem'd to fleep,
And all the Winds were bury'd in the Deep:
No whifp'ring Zephyrus aloft did blow,
Nor warring Boughs were murmuring below:
No falling Waters dafh'd, no Rivers purl'd,
But all confpir'd to hufh the drowzy World.
Twas in the Dead of Night, when Sleep repairs
Our Bodies worn with Toils, our Minds with Cares. Dr. Virg.
Dogs ceafe to Bark, the Waves more faintly roar,
And roul themselves afleep upon the Shore.
'Twas Night, when Nature was in Sables drefs'd; Tempestuous Winds in hollow Caves did reft. Impending Rocks with Slumber feem'd to bow; And drowsy Mountains hung their heavy Brow: The weary Waves roul'd nodding on the Deep,
Or ftretch'd on oozy Beds, they murmur'd in their Sleep. Blac. 'Tis Night, dead Night, and weary Night lies
So faft, as if fhe never were to rife:
No Breath of Wind now whispers thro' the Trees,
No Noise at Land, nor Murmur in the Seas:
Lean Wolves forget to howl at Night's pale Noon,
No wakeful Dogs bark at the filent Moon;
Nor bay the Ghofts that glide with Horror by,
To view the Caverns where their Bodies lie;
The Ravens perch, and no Prefages give,
Nor to the Windows of the Dying cleave:
The Owls forget to fcream, no Midnight Sound
Calls drowfy Echo from the hollow Ground.
In Vaults the waking Fires extinguish'd lie;
The Stars, Heav'ns Centry, wink, and feem to die.
'Twas Dead of Night, when weary Bodies clofe
Their Eyes in balmy Sleep, and foft Repofe.
The Winds no longer whifper thro' the Woods,
Nor murm'ring Tides difturb the gentle Floods :
The Stars, in filent Order, mov'd around,
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And Peace, with downy Wings, was brooding on the Ground.
The Flocks, and Herds, and party-colour'd Fowl,
Which haunt the Woods, or fwim the weedy Pool,
Stretch'd on the quiet Earth, fecurely lay,
Forgetting the paft Labours of the Day.
All things are hufh'd, as Nature's felf lay dead;
The Mountains feem to nod their drowsy Head:
The little Birds in Dreams their Songs repeat,
And fleeping Flow'rs beneath the Night-Dew fweat:
Ev'n Luft and Envy fleep.
All things are hufh'd, as when the Drawers tread
Softly to fteal the Key from Master's Head;
The dying Snuffs do twinkle in their Urns,
As 'twere the Socket, not the Candle, burns:
The little Foot-boy fnores upon the Stair;
And greafy Cook-maid. fweats in Elbow-chair:
No Coach nor Link was heard:
NIGHTINGALE. See Creation, Light,
Tunes fweeteft her Love-labour'd Song.
She all Night long her am'rous Defcant fings, Trills her thick-warbled Notes the Summer long."
So, close in Poplar Shades, her Children gone,
The Mother Nightingale laments alone :
Whofe Neft fome prying Churl had found, and thence
By Stealth convey'd th'unfeather'd Innocence.
But the fupplies the Night with mournful Strains,
And melancholly Mufick fills the Plains.
Thus in fome Poplar Shade, the Nightingale
With piercing Moans does her loft Young bewail:
Which the rough Hind obferving as they lay
Warm in their downy Neft, had ftol'n away:
But the in mournful Sound does ftill complain,
Sings all the Night, tho' all her Songs are vain,
And ftill renews her miferable Strain.
NOBILITY of BLOOD. See Baftard.
Nobility of Blood,
Is but a glitt'ring and fallacious Good:
The Nobleman is he, whofe noble Mind
Is fill'd with in-born Worth, unborrow'd from his Kind.
The King of Heav'n was in a Manger laid.
And took his Earth but from an humble Maid:
Then what can Birth on mortal Men bestow,
Since Floods no higher than their Fountains flow?
We, who for Name and empty Honour strive,
Our true Nobility from him derive.
Your Ancestors, who puff your Mind with Pride;
And vaft Eftates, to mighty Titles ty'd,
Did not your Honour, but their own advance;
For Virtue comes not by Inheritance :
If you tralineate from your Father's Mind,
What are you elfe but of a Baftard Kind:
Do as your great Progenitors have done,
And by your Virtue prove your felf their Son.
Virtue alone is true Nobility:
Let your own A&ts immortalize your Name;
'Tis poor relying on another's Fame:
For take the Pillars but away, and all
The Superftru&ture muft in Ruins fall:
As a Vine droops, when by Divorce remov'd,
From the Embraces of the Elm fhe lov'd.
And backward trace the Principles of Things:
There fhall we find that when the World began,
One common Mafs compos'd the Mould of Man';
One Pafte of Flesh on all Degrees bestow'd ;
And kneaded up alike with moift'ning Blood.
The fame Almighty Pow'r infpir'd the Frame
With kindled Life, and form'd the Souls the fame,
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