Heaven’s queen and mother both,
Now sits not girt with tapers’ holy shine:
[The Lybic Hammon] shrinks his horn;
In vain the Tyrian maids [their wounded Thammuz] mourn.
XXIII.
And [sullen Moloch], fled, 205
Hath left in shadows dread
His burning idol all of blackest hue;
In vain with cymbals’ ring
They call the grisly king,