And the Land's humblest comforts. Now her mood Recalls the transformation of the flood, Whose rage the gentle skies in vain reprove, Of headstrong will! Can this be Piety? No, some fierce Maniac hath usurped her name; And scourges England struggling to be free: Her peace destroyed! her hopes a wilderness! Her blessings cursed, her glory turned to shame! XLV. LAUD.* PREJUDGED by foes determined not to spare, Whose heart still flutters, though his wings forbear Why tarries then thy chariot? Wherefore stay, *See Note. XLVI. AFFLICTIONS OF ENGLAND. HARP! couldst thou venture, on thy boldest string, Of dread Jehovah; then should wood and waste Hear also of that name, and mercy cast Of which the Lord was weary. Weep, O weep! PART III. FROM THE RESTORATION TO THE PRESENT TIMES. I. I SAW the figure of a lovely Maid Seated alone beneath a darksome tree, Set off her brightness with a pleasing shade. was she; that my heart betrayed, No Spirit For she was one I loved exceedingly; But while I gazed in tender reverie, (Or was it sleep that with my Fancy played?) The bright corporeal presence,-form and face, Remaining still distinct, grew thin and rare, mist; at length the golden hair, Like sunny mist; Shape, limbs, and heavenly features, keeping pace II. PATRIOTIC SYMPATHIES. LAST night, without a voice, that Vision spake Fear to my Soul, and sadness which might seem Wholly dissevered from our present theme; Yet, my beloved Country! I partake Of kindred agitations for thy sake; Thou, too, dost visit oft my midnight dream Thy glory meets me with the earliest beam Of light, which tells that morning is awake. If aught impair thy beauty, or destroy, Or but forebode destruction, I deplore With filial love the sad vicissitude; If thou hast fallen, and righteous Heaven restore The prostrate, then my spring-time is renewed, And sorrow bartered for exceeding joy. VOL. IV. III. CHARLES THE SECOND. WHO comes, To wantonness. Away, Circean revels! But for what gain? if England soon must sink That bigotry may swallow the good name, And, with that draught, the life-blood: misery, shame, By Poets loathed; from which Historians shrink! IV. LATITUDINARIANISM. Yet Truth is keenly sought for, and the wind Charged with rich words poured out in thought's defence; Whether the Church inspire that eloquence, Or a Platonic Piety confined To the sole temple of the inward mind; And one there is who builds immortal lays, Though doomed to tread in solitary ways, Sad thoughts; for from above the starry sphere Shines through his soul,-"that he may see and tell Of things invisible to mortal sight." V. WALTON'S BOOK OF LIVES. THERE are no colors in the fairest sky So fair as these. The feather, whence the pen Was shaped that traced the lives of these good men, Dropped from an Angel's wing. With moistened eye We read of faith and purest charity In Statesman, Priest, and humble Citizen: like glowworms on a summer night; . Around meek Walton's heavenly memory. |