182
COWLEY'S POEMS.
From the deep baleful caves of hell below,
Where the old mother Night does grow—
Substantial Night, that does disclaim
Privation's empty name—
Through secret conduits monstrous shapes arose,
Such as the sun's whole force could not oppose:
They with a solid cloud
All heaven's eclipsed face did shroud;
Seem'd, with large wings spread o'er the sea and earth,
To brood up a new Chaos's deformed birth.
And every lamp, and every fire,
Did at the dreadful sight wink and expire,
To th' Empyrean source all streams of light seem'd to retire.
The living men were in their standing houses buried;
But the long Night no slumber knows,
But the short Death finds no repose!
Ten thousand terrors through the darkness fled,
And ghosts complain'd, and spirits murmured;
And Fancy's multiplying sight
View'd all the scenes invisible of Night.
Where the old mother Night does grow—
Substantial Night, that does disclaim
Privation's empty name—
Through secret conduits monstrous shapes arose,
Such as the sun's whole force could not oppose:
They with a solid cloud
All heaven's eclipsed face did shroud;
Seem'd, with large wings spread o'er the sea and earth,
To brood up a new Chaos's deformed birth.
And every lamp, and every fire,
Did at the dreadful sight wink and expire,
To th' Empyrean source all streams of light seem'd to retire.
The living men were in their standing houses buried;
But the long Night no slumber knows,
But the short Death finds no repose!
Ten thousand terrors through the darkness fled,
And ghosts complain'd, and spirits murmured;
And Fancy's multiplying sight
View'd all the scenes invisible of Night.
Of God's dreadful anger these
Were but the first light skirmishes;
The shock and bloody battle now begins,
The plenteous harvest of full-ripen'd sins.
It was the time when the still moon
Was mounted softly to her noon,
Were but the first light skirmishes;
The shock and bloody battle now begins,
The plenteous harvest of full-ripen'd sins.
It was the time when the still moon
Was mounted softly to her noon,
