Page:Poems of Mr. John Milton, Both English and Latin, Compos'd at several times.djvu/18

 Say Heav'nly Muse, shall not thy sacred vein Afford a present to the Infant God? Hast thou no vers, no hymn, or solemn strein, To welcom him to this his new abode, Now while the Heav'n, by the Suns team untrod,
 * Hath took no print of the approaching light,

And all the spangled host keep watch in squadrons bright?

See how from far upon the Eastern rode The star-led Wizards haste with odours sweet: O run, prevent them with thy humble ode, And lay it lowly at his blessed feet; Have thou the honour first thy Lord to greet,
 * And joyn thy voice unto the Angel Quire,

From out his secret Altar toucht with hallow'd fire.

T was the Winter wilde, While the Heav'n-born childe,
 * All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies;

Nature in aw to him Had