184
COWLEY'S POEMS.
Made of the blackest fleece of Night,
And close-wrought to keep in the powerful light,
Yet wrought so fine it hinder'd not his flight;
But through the key-holes and the chinks of doors,
And through the narrow'st walks of crooked pores,
He pass'd more swift and free,
Than in wide air the wanton swallows flee.
He took a pointed Pestilence in his hand;
The spirits of thousand mortal poisons made
The strongly-temper'd blade,
The sharpest sword that e'er was laid
Up in the magazines of God to scourge a wicked land.
Through Egypt's wicked land his march he took,
And as he march'd the sacred first-born strook
Of every womb; none did he spare,
None, from the meanest beast to Cenchre's purple heir.
And close-wrought to keep in the powerful light,
Yet wrought so fine it hinder'd not his flight;
But through the key-holes and the chinks of doors,
And through the narrow'st walks of crooked pores,
He pass'd more swift and free,
Than in wide air the wanton swallows flee.
He took a pointed Pestilence in his hand;
The spirits of thousand mortal poisons made
The strongly-temper'd blade,
The sharpest sword that e'er was laid
Up in the magazines of God to scourge a wicked land.
Through Egypt's wicked land his march he took,
And as he march'd the sacred first-born strook
Of every womb; none did he spare,
None, from the meanest beast to Cenchre's purple heir.
The swift approach of endless night
Breaks ope the wounded sleepers' rolling eyes;
They' awake the rest with dying cries,
And darkness doubles the affright;
The mixed sounds of scatter'd deaths they hear,
And lose their parted souls 'twixt grief and fear.
Louder than all the shrieking women's voice
Pierces this chaos of confused noise;
As brighter lightning cuts a way
Clear and distinguish'd through the day.
With less complaints the Zoan temples sound,
When the adored heifer's drown'd,
And no true mark'd successor to be found.
Breaks ope the wounded sleepers' rolling eyes;
They' awake the rest with dying cries,
And darkness doubles the affright;
The mixed sounds of scatter'd deaths they hear,
And lose their parted souls 'twixt grief and fear.
Louder than all the shrieking women's voice
Pierces this chaos of confused noise;
As brighter lightning cuts a way
Clear and distinguish'd through the day.
With less complaints the Zoan temples sound,
When the adored heifer's drown'd,
And no true mark'd successor to be found.
