What meant they? Canst thou dream there is a power
In lighter diet, at a later hour,

To charm to sleep the threatening of the skies,
Aud hide past folly from all-seeing eyes?

The fast that wins deliverance, and suspends
The stroke that a yindictive God intends,
Is to renounce hypocrisy ; to draw
Thy life upon the pattern of the law;
To war with pleasure, idoliz'd before;
To vanquish lust, and wear its yoke no more,
All fasting else, whate'er be the pretence,
Is wooing mercy by renew'd offence.

Hast thou within thee sin, that in old time
Brought fire from heaven, the sex-abusing crime,
Whose horrid perpetration stamps disgrace,
Baboons are free from, upon human race?
Think on the fruitful and well-water'd spot
That fed the flocks and herds of wealthy Lot,
Where Paradise seem'd still vouchsaf'd on earth,
Burning and scorch'd into perpetual dearth,
Or, in his words who damn'd the base desire,
Suffering the vengeance of eternal fire:

Then nature, injur'd, scandaliz'd, defil'd,

Unveil'd her blushing cheek, look'd on, and smil'd; Beheld, with joy, the lovely seene defac'd,

And prais'd the wrath that laid her beauties waste.

Far be the thought from any verse of mine, And farther still the form'd and fix'd design,

To thrust the charge of deeds that I detest
Against an innocent, unconscious breast:
The man that dares traduce, because he can
With safety to himself, is not a man :
An individual is a sacred mark,

Not to be pierc'd in play, or in the dark;
But public censure speaks a public foe,
Unless a zeal for virtus guide the blow.

The priestly brotherhood, devout, sincere,
From mean self-interest and ambition clear,
Their hope in heaven, servility their scorn,
Prompt to persuade, expostu te, and warn,
Their wisdom pure, and given them from above,
Their usefulness ensur'd by zeal and love,
As meek as the man Moses, and withal
As bold as in Agrippa's presence Paul,
Should fly the world's contaminating touch,
Holy and unpolluted are thine such?
Except a few with Eli's spirit blest,

Hophni and Phinehas may describe the rest.

Where shall a teacher look, in days like these, For ears and hearts that he can hope to please? Look to the poor-the simple and the plain Will hear, perhaps, thy salutary strain : Humility is gentle, apt to learn,

Speak but the word, will listen and return.
Alas, not so! the poorest of the flock
Are proud, and set their faces as a rock ;

Denied that earthly opulence they choose,
God's better gift they scoff at and refuse.
The rich, the produce of a nobler stem,
Are more intelligent, at least-try them.
Oh, vain inquiry! they, without remorse,
Are altogether gone a devious course;

Where beckoning pleasure leads them, wildly stray;
Have burst the bands, and cast the yoke away.

Now, borne upon the wings of truth sublime, Review thy dim original and prime. This island, spot of unreclaim'd, rude earth, The cradle, that receiv'd thee at thy birth, Was rock'd by many a rough Norwegian blast, And Danish howlings scar'd thee as they pass'd; For thou wast born amid the din of arms, And suck'd a breast that panted with alarms. While yet thou wast a grovelling, puling chit, Thy bones not fashion'd, and thy joints not knit, The Roman taught thy stubborn knee to bow, Though twice a Cæsar could not bend thee now: His victory was that of orient light,

When the sun's shafts disperse the gloom of night.
Thy language, at this distant moment, shows
How much the country to the conqueror owes
Expressive, energetic, and refin'd,

It sparkles with the gems he left behind :
He brought thy land a blessing when he came ;
He found thee savage, and he left thee tame :
Taught thee to clothe thy pink'd and painted hide,
And grace thy figure with a soldier's pride;

He sow'd the seeds of order where he went,
Improv'd thee far beyond his own intent,
And, while he rul'd thee by the sword alone,
Made thee at last a warrior like his own.
Religion, if in heavenly truths attir'd,

Needs only to be seen to be admir'd;

But thine, as dark as witcheries of the night,
Was form'd to harden hearts and shock the sight..
Thy druids struck the well-hung harps they bore
With fingers deeply dy'd in human gore ;

And, while the victim slowly bled to death,

Upon the rolling chords rung out his dying breath.

Who brought the lamp, that with awakening beams Dispell'd thy gloom, and broke away thy dreams, Tradition, now decrepit and worn out,

Babbler of ancient fables, leaves a doubt:

But still light reach'd thee; and those gods of thine,
Woden and Thor, each tottering in his shrine,
Fell, broken and defac'd, at their own door,
As Dagon in Philistia long before.

But Rome, with sorceries and magic wand,
Soon rais'd a cloud that darken'd every land;
And thine was smother'd in the stench and fog
Of Tyber's marshes and the papal bog.

Then priests, with bulls and briefs, and shaven crowns,
And griping fists, and unrelenting frowns,

Legates and delegates, with powers from hell,
Though heavenly in pretension, fleec'd thee well;

And to this hour, to keep it fresh in mind,
Some twigs of that old scourge are left behind.*
Thy soldiery, the pope's well manag'd pack,
Were train'd beneath his lash, and knew the smack,
And when he laid them on the scent of blood,
Would hunt a Saracen through fire and flood.
Lavish of life, to win an empty tomb,

That prov'd a mint of wealth, a mine, to Rome,
They left their bones beneath unfriendly skies,
His wortless absolution all the prize!
Thou wast the veriest slave, in days of yore,
That ever dragg'd a chain, or tugg'd an oar.
Thy monarchs, arbitrary, fierce, unjust,
Themselves the slaves of bigotry or lust,
Disdain'd thy counsels; only in distress
Found thee a goodly sponge for power to press.
Thy chiefs, the lords of many a petty fee,
Provok'd and harass'd, in return plagu'd thee;
Call'd thee away from peaceable employ,
Domestic happiness and rural joy,

To waste thy life in arms, or lay it down
In causeless feuds and bickerings of their own.
Thy parliaments ador'd, on bended knees,
The sovereignty they were conven'd to please;
Whate'er was ask'd, too timid to resist,
Complied with, and were graciously dismiss'd;
And, if some Spartan soul a doubt express'd,
And, blushing at the tameness of the rest,

Which may be found at Doctor's Commons.