Afflicted  shall sit weeping down,
Fast by the Streams, where  Waters run;
Their Harps upon the neighb'ring Willows hung,
Nor joyous Hymn encouraging their Tongue,
Nor chearful Dance their Feet; with Toil oppress'd,
Their weary'd Limbs aspiring but to Rest.
In the reflective Stream the sighing Bride,
Viewing her Charms impair'd, abash'd shall hide
Her pensive head; and in her languid Face
The Bridegroom shall fore-see his sickly Race:
While pond'rous Fetters vex their close Embrace.
With irksome Anguish then your Priests shall mourn
Their long-neglected Feasts despair'd Return,
And sad Oblivion of their solemn Days.
Thenceforth their Voices They shall only raise,
Louder to weep. By Day your frighted Seers
Shall call for Fountains to express their Tears;
And wish their Eyes were Flouds: by Night from Dreams
Of opening Gulphs, black Storms, and raging Flames,
Starting amaz'd, shall to the People show
Emblems of Heav'nly Wrath, and Mystic Types of Woe.