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Even so, in many a reconstructed fane,
Have the survivors of this storm renewed
Their holy rites with vocal gratitude :
And solemn ceremonials they ordain
To celebrate their great deliverance;
Most feelingly instructed 'mid their fear,-
That persecution, blind with rage extreme,
May not the less, through Heaven's mild counte-


Even in her own despite, both feed and cheer; For all things are less dreadful than they seem.



WATCH, and be firm! for soul-subduing vice,
Heart-killing luxury, on your steps await.
Fair houses, baths, and banquets delicate,
And temples flashing, bright as polar ice,
Their radiance through the woods, may yet suffice
To sap your hardy virtue, and abate

Your love of Him upon whose forehead sate

The crown of thorns; whose life-blood flowed, the


Of your redemption. Shun the insidious arts

That Rome provides, less dreading from her frown Than from her wily praise, her peaceful gown, Language, and letters; these, though fondly


As humanizing graces, are but parts

And instruments of deadliest servitude!



THAT heresies should strike (if truth be scanned
Presumptuously) their roots both wide and deep,
Is natural as dreams to feverish sleep.

Lo! Discord at the altar dares to stand,
Uplifting toward high Heaven her fiery brand,
A cherished Priestess of the new-baptized!
But chastisement shall follow peace despised.
The Pictish cloud darkens the enervate land
By Rome abandoned; vain are suppliant cries,
And prayers that would undo her forced farewell;
For she returns not. - Awed by her own knell,
She casts the Britons upon strange Allies,
Soon to become more dreaded enemies
Than heartless misery called them to repel.



RISE! - they have risen: of brave Aneurin ask
How they have scourged old foes, perfidious friends:
The Spirit of Caractacus descends

Upon the Patriots, animates their task;
Amazement runs before the towering casque

Of Arthur, bearing through the stormy field

The Virgin sculptured on his Christian shield: --Stretched in the sunny light of victory bask

The Host that followed Urien as he strode

O'er heaps of slain ; from Cambrian wood and


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Druids descend, auxiliars of the Cross;

Bards, nursed on blue Plinlimmon's still abode,. Rush on the fight, to harps preferring swords, And everlasting deeds to burning words!



NOR wants the cause the panic-striking aid
Of hallelujahs* tost from hill to hill,
For instant victory. But Heaven's high will
Permits a second and a darker shade

Of Pagan night. Afflicted and dismayed,
The Relics of the sword flee to the mountains:
O wretched Land! whose tears have flowed like


Whose arts and honors in the dust are laid

By men yet scarcely conscious of a care

For other monuments than those of Earth;
Who, as the fields and woods have given them birth,
Will build their savage fortunes only there;
Content, if foss, and barrow, and the girth

Of long-drawn rampart, witness what they were.

* See Note.



THE oppression of the tumult,—wrath and scorn,— The tribulation, and the gleaming blades,Such is the impetuous spirit that pervades


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of Taliesin; song

Ours shall mourn

The unarmed Host who by their prayers would


The sword from Bangor's walls, and guard the store Of Aboriginal and Roman lore,

And Christian monuments, that now must burn To senseless ashes. Mark! how all things swerve From their known course, or vanish like a dream; Another language spreads from coast to coast; Only perchance some melancholy Stream

And some indignant Hills old names preserve, When laws, and creeds, and people all are lost!



A BRIGHT-HAIRED company of youthful slaves,
Beautiful strangers, stand within the pale
Of a sad market, ranged for public sale,
Where Tiber's stream the Immortal City laves:
ANGLI by name; and not an ANGEL waves

*See Note.

His wing who could seem lovelier to man's eye Than they appear to holy Gregory;

Who, having learnt that name, salvation craves For them, and for their Land. The earnest Sire, His questions urging, feels, in slender ties

Of chiming sound, commanding sympathies;


he would save them from God's IRE;

Subjects of Saxon ÆLLA, they shall sing
Glad HALLE-lujahs to the Eternal King!



FOR ever hallowed be this morning fair,
Blest be the unconscious shore on which ye tread,
And blest the silver Cross, which ye, instead
Of martial banner, in procession bear;
The Cross preceding Him who floats in air,
The pictured Saviour!- By Augustin led,
They come, - and onward travel without dread,
Chanting in barbarous ears a tuneful prayer, —
Sung for themselves, and those whom they would

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Of Ignorance, that ran so rough and high,
And heeded not the voice of clashing swords,
These good men humble by a few bare words,
And calm with fear of God's divinity.

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