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Age after age to the arch of Christendom
Aërial keystone haughtily secure ;
Supremacy from Heaven transmitted pure,
As many hold; and, therefore, to the tomb
Pass, some through fire,—and by the scaffold


Like saintly Fisher, and unbending More.


Lightly for both the bosom's lord did sit

Upon his throne"; unsoftened, undismayed
By aught that mingled with the tragic scene
Of pity or fear; and More's gay genius played
With the inoffensive sword of native wit,
Than the bare axe more luminous and keen.



DEEP is the lamentation! Not alone
From sages justly honored by mankind;
But from the ghostly tenants of the wind,
Demons and Spirits, many a dolorous groan
Issues for that dominion overthrown:
Proud Tiber grieves, and far-off Ganges, blind
As his own worshippers: and Nile, reclined
Upon his monstrous urn, the farewell moan
Renews. Through every forest, cave, and den,
Where frauds were hatched of old, hath sorrow


Hangs o'er the Arabian Prophet's native Waste,

Where once his airy helpers schemed and planned 'Mid spectral lakes bemocking thirsty men, And stalking pillars built of fiery sand.



GRANT, that by this unsparing hurricane
Green leaves with yellow mixed are torn away,
And goodly fruitage with the mother spray;
'T were madness, wished we, therefore, to detain,
With hands stretched forth in mollified disdain,
The "trumpery" that ascends in bare display, —
Bulls, pardons, relics, cowls black, white, and gray,—
Upwhirled, and flying o'er the ethereal plain
Fast bound for Limbo Lake. And yet not choice,
But habit, rules the unreflecting herd,

And airy bounds are hardest to disown;

Hence, with the spiritual sovereignty transferred
Unto itself, the Crown assumes a voice
Of reckless mastery, hitherto unknown.



BUT, to outweigh all harm, the sacred Book,
In dusty sequestration wrapt too long,
Assumes the accents of our native tongue;

And he who guides the plough, or wields the crook, With understanding spirit now may look

Upon her records, listen to her song,

And sift her laws, - much wondering that the


Which Faith has suffered, Heaven could calmly brook.

Transcendent Boon! noblest that earthly king
Ever bestowed to equalize and bless

Under the weight of mortal wretchedness!
But passions spread like plagues, and thousands wild
With bigotry shall tread the Offering
Beneath their feet, detested and defiled.



FOR what contend the wise? - for nothing less
Than that the Soul, freed from the bonds of Sense,
And to her God restored by evidence

Of things not seen, drawn forth from their recess,
Root there, and not in forms, her holiness;
For Faith, which to the Patriarchs did dispense
Sure guidance, ere a ceremonial fence

Was needful round men thirsting to transgress;
For Faith, more perfect still, with which the Lord
Of all, himself a Spirit, in the youth

Of Christian aspiration, deigned to fill

The temples of their hearts who, with his word

Informed, were resolute to do his will,

And worship him in spirit and in truth.



"SWEET is the holiness of Youth";

so felt Time-honored Chaucer, speaking through that Lay By which the Prioress beguiled the way, And many a Pilgrim's rugged heart did melt. Hadst thou, loved Bard! whose spirit often dwelt In the clear land of vision, but foreseen King, child, and seraph blended in the mien Of pious Edward kneeling as he knelt In meek and simple infancy, what joy

For universal Christendom had thrilled

Thy heart! what hopes inspired thy genius, skilled
(O great Precursor, genuine morning Star!)
The lucid shafts of reason to employ,
Piercing the Papal darkness from afar!



THE tears of man in various measures gush

From various sources; gently overflow

From blissful transport some,- from clefts of woe

Some with ungovernable impulse rush;

And some, coeval with the earliest blush
Of infant passion, scarcely dare to show
Their pearly lustre, coming but to go;


And some break forth when others' sorrows crush The sympathizing heart. Nor these, nor yet The noblest drops to admiration known,

To gratitude, to injuries forgiven,

Claim Heaven's regard like waters that have wet The innocent eyes of youthful Monarchs, driven pen the mandates nature doth disown.




THE saintly Youth has ceased to rule, discrowned
By unrelenting Death. O People keen

For change, to whom the new looks always green!
Rejoicing did they cast upon the ground
Their Gods of wood and stone; and, at the sound
Of counter-proclamation, now are seen
(Proud triumph is it for a sullen Queen!)
Lifting them up, the worship to confound
Of the Most High. Again do they invoke
The Creature, to the Creature glory give;
Again with frankincense the altars smoke
Like those the Heathen served; and mass is sung;
And prayer, man's rational prerogative,

Runs through blind channels of an unknown tongue.

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