PART IV.

CHRIST'S TRIUMPH AFTER DEATH.

THE ARGUMENT.

Christ's triumph after death, 1st, In his resurrection, manifested by its effects in the creatures-in himself—2d, In his ascension into heaven; whose joys are described, 1st, By the access of all good, the blessed society of the saints, angels,-the sweet quiet and peace enjoyed under God-the beauty of the place;-the carity (as the school calls it) of the saints' bodies-the impletion of the appetite-the joy of the senses, &c.-2d, By the absence of all evil-by the access of all good again—in the glory of the holy city-in the beatifical vision of God.

But now the second morning, from her bower,
Began to glister in her beams; and now
The roses of the day began to flower

In the eastern garden; for heaven's smiling brow
Half insolent for joy began to show :

The early sun came lively dancing out,

And the brag lambs ran wantoning about,

That heaven and earth might seem in triumph both to shout.

The engladden'd Spring, forgetful now to weep,
Began to eblazon from her leafy bed;

The waking swallow broke her half year's sleep,
And every bush lay deeply purpured

With violets; the wood's late wintry head

Wide flaming primroses set all on fire,

And his bald trees put on their green attire, Among whose infant leaves the joyous birds conspire.

And now the taller sons (whom Titan warms) Of unshorn mountains, blown with easy winds, Dandled the morning's childhood in their arms, And, if they chanced to slip the prouder pines, The under corylets' did catch the shines,

To gild their leaves; saw never happier year Such joyful triumph and triumphant cheer, As though the aged world anew created were.

Say, Earth, why hast thou got thee new attire,
And stick'st thy habit full of daisies red?

Seems that thou dost to some high thought aspire,
And some new-found-out bridegroom mean'st to

wed:

Tell me, ye trees, so fresh apparelled,

So never let the spiteful canker waste you, So never let the heavens with lightning blast you, Why go you now so trimly drest, or whither haste you?

Answer me, Jordan, why thy crooked tide
So often wanders from his nearest way,
As though some other way thy stream would slide,
And fain salute the place where something lay.
And you sweet birds, that, shaded from the ray,

Sit carolling and piping grief away,

The while the lambs to hear you dance and play, Tell me, sweet birds, what is it you so fain would

And thou, fair spouse of Earth, that every year
Gett'st such a numerous issue of thy bride,

How chance thou hotter shin'st, and draw'st, more near ?

Sure thou somewhere some worthy sight hast spied, That in one place for joy thou canst not bide: And you, dead swallows, that so lively now Through the flit air your winged passage row, How could new life into your frozen ashes flow?

Ye primroses and purple violets,

Tell me, why blaze ye from your leafy bed,
And woo men's hands to rent you from your sets,
As though you would somewhere be carried,
With fresh perfumes and velvets garnished?
But ah! I need not ask, 'tis surely so,

You all would to your Saviour's triumph go: There would ye all await, and humble homage do.

There should the earth herself, with garlands

new

And lovely flowers embellished, adore:
Such roses never in her garland grew,
Such lilies never in her breast she wore,
Like beauty never yet did shine before:

There should the Sun another Sun behold,

From whence himself borrows his locks of gold, That kindle heaven and earth with beauties manifold.

There might the violet and primrose sweet,
Beams of more lively, and more lovely grace,
Arising from their beds of incense, meet;
There should the swallow see new life embrace
Dead ashes, and the grave unveil his face,

To let the living from his bowels creep,

Unable longer his own dead to keep;

There heaven and earth should see their Lord awake from sleep,

Their Lord, before by others judged to die
Now judge of all himself; before forsaken
Of all the world, that from his aid did fly,
Now by the saints into their armies taken;
Before for an unworthy man mistaken,

Now worthy to be God confessed; before
With blasphemies by all the basest tore,
Now worshipped by angels, that him low adore:

Whose garment was before indipt in blood,
But now, embrighten'd into heav'nly flame,
The sun itself outglitters, though he should
Climb to the top of the celestial frame,

And force the stars to hide themselves for shame:
Before, that under earth was buried,
But now above the heav'ns is carried,
And there for ever by the angels heried.'

So fairest Phosphor, the bright morning star,
But newly wash'd in the green element,
Before the drowsy night is half aware,
Shooting his flaming locks with dew besprent,
Springs lively up into the orient,

And the bright drove, fleeced in gold, he chaces To drink, that on the Olympic mountain grazes, The while the minor planets forfeit all their faces.

So long he wander'd in our lower sphere, That heav'n began his cloudy stars despise, 1 Worshipped.