The stars, with deep amaze,
      Stand fixed in steadfast gaze,
  Bending one way their precious influence,
      And will not take their flight,
      For all the morning-light,
  Or Lucifer that often warned them thence;
    But in their glimmering orbs did glow,
Until their Lord himself bespake, and bid them go.

VII.

      And, though the shady gloom
      Had given day her room,
  The sun himself withheld his wonted speed;
      And hid his head for shame,
      As his inferior flame
  The new-enlightened world no more should need;
    He saw a greater sun appear
Than his bright throne or burning axletree could bear.

VIII.

      The shepherds on the lawn,
      Or ere the point of dawn,
  Sat simply chatting in a rustic row;
      Full little thought they than
      That the mighty Pan
  Was kindly come to live with them below. 
    Perhaps their loves, or else their sheep,
Was all that did their silly thoughts so busy keep.

IX.

      When such music sweet
      Their hearts and ears did greet,
  As never was by mortal finger strook;
      Divinely-warbled voice
      Answering the stringed noise,
  As all their souls in blissful rapture took. 
    The air, such pleasure loth to lose,
With thousand echoes still prolongs each heavenly close.

X.

      Nature, that heard such sound,
      Beneath the hollow round
  Of Cynthia’s seat, the airy region thrilling,
      Now was almost won
      To think her part was done,
  And that her reign had here its last fulfilling. 
    She knew such harmony alone
Could hold all Heaven and Earth in happier union.

XI.

      At last surrounds their sight
      A globe of circular light,
  That with long beams the shame-faced Night arrayed. 
      The helmed Cherubim,
      And sworded Seraphim,
  Are seen, in glittering ranks with wings displayed,
    Harping, in loud and solemn quire,
With unexpressive notes to Heaven’s new-born Heir.

XII.

      Such music—­as ’tis said—­
      Before was never made,
  But when of old the Sons of Morning sung;
      While the Creator great
      His constellations set,
  And the well-balanced World on hinges hung,
    And cast the dark foundations deep,
And bid the weltering waves their oozy channel keep.

XIII.