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Night!
loathed jaylor of the lock'd up sun,
And
tyrant-turnkey on committed day,
Bright eyes lye
fettered in thy dungeon,
And Heaven it self doth thy
dark wards obey.
Thou dost arise our living hell;
With thee grones, terrors, furies dwell;
Until
LUCASTA doth awake,
And with her beams these heavy
chaines off shake.
Behold! with opening her
almighty lid,
Bright eyes break rowling, and with
lustre spread,
And captive day his chariot mounted
is;
Night to her proper hell is beat,
And screwed
to her ebon seat;
Till th' Earth with play oppressed
lies,
And drawes again the curtains of her eyes.
But, bondslave, I know neither day nor night;
Whether she murth'ring sleep, or saving wake;
Now
broyl'd ith' zone of her reflected light,
Then frose,
my isicles, not sinews shake.
Smile then, new Nature,
your soft blast
Doth melt our ice, and fires waste;
Whil'st the scorch'd shiv'ring world new born
Now
feels it all the day one rising morn.
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