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John Milton

Say, Heavenly Muse, shall not thy sacred vein 15

Afford a present to the Infant God?

Hast thou no verse, no hymn, or solemn strain,

To welcome him to this his new abode,

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IX

17 lines
John Milton·1608–1674
hen such Musick sweetTheir hearts and ears did greet,As never was by mortal finger strook,Divinely-warbled voiceAnswering the stringed noise,As all their souls in blisfull rapture took:The Air such pleasure loth to lose,With thousand echo's still prolongs each heav'nly close. 100 X Nature that heard such soundBeneath the hollow roundof Cynthia's seat the Airy region thrilling,Now was almost wonTo think her part was donAnd that her raign had here its last fulfilling;She knew such harmony aloneCould hold all Heav'n and Earth in happier union.