What Powers, presiding o'er the sacred well If Christian Faith, this savage Island blessed With its first bounty. Wandering through the west, id holy Paul* a while in Britain dwell,
nd call the Fountain forth by miracle,
And with dread signs the nascent Stream invest ? Or He, whose bonds dropped off, whose prison doors. Flew open, by an Angel's voice unbarred ? Or some of humbler name, to these wild shores Storm-driven; who, having seen the cup of woe Pass from their Master, sojourned here to guard The precious Current they had taught to flow?
TREPIDATION OF THE DRUIDS.
SCREAMS round the Arch-druid's brow the seamew †white
As Menai's foam; and toward the mystic ring Where Augurs stand, the Future questioning, Slowly the cormorant aims her heavy flight, Portending ruin to each baleful rite,
That, in the lapse of ages, hath crept o'er Diluvian truths, and patriarchal lore.
Haughty the Bard: can these meek doctrines blight
This water-fowl was, among the Druids, an emblem of those traditions
nected with the Delugo that made an important part of their mysteries. Cormorant was a bird of bad omen.
His transports? wither his heroic strains ? But all shall be fulfilled;-the Julian spear A way first opened; and, with Roman chains, The tidings come of Jesus crucified;
They come they spread-the weak, the suffering, hear; Receive the faith, and in the hope abide.
DRUIDICAL EXCOMMUNICATION.
MERCY and Love have met thee on thy road, Thou wretched Outcast, from the gift of fire And food cut off by sacerdotal ire,
From every sympathy that Man bestowed! Yet shall it claim our reverence, that to God, Ancient of days! that to the eternal Sire, These jealous Ministers of law aspire,
As to the one sole fount whence wisdom flowed, Justice, and order. Tremblingly escaped, As if with prescience of the coming storm, That intimation when the stars were shaped; And still, 'mid yon thick woods, the primal truth Glimmers through many a superstitious form That fills the Soul with unavailing ruth.
DARKNESS surrounds us; seeking, we are lost On Snowdon's wilds, amid Brigantian coves, Or where the solitary shepherd roves Along the plain of Sarum, by the ghost Of Time and shadows of Tradition, crost; And where the boatman of the Western Isles Slackens his course-to mark those holy piles Which yet survive on bleak Iona's coast. Nor these, nor monuments of eldest name, Nor Taliesin's unforgotten lays,
Nor characters of Greek or Roman fame, To an unquestionable Source have led; Enough-if eyes, that sought the fountain-head In vain, upon the growing Rill may gaze.
LAMENT! for Diocletian's fiery sword Works busy as the lightning; but instinct With malice ne'er to deadliest weapon linked Which God's ethereal store-houses afford:
Against the Followers of the incarnate Lord It rages;—some are smitten in the field— Some pierced to the heart through the ineffectual shield Of sacred home;-with pomp are others gored And dreadful respite. Thus was Alban tried, England's first Martyr, whom no threats could shake; Self-offered victim, for his friend he died,
And for the faith; nor shall his name forsake That Hill, whose flowery platform seems to rise By Nature decked for holiest sacrifice *.
As, when a storm hath ceased, the birds regain Their cheerfulness, and busily retrim
Their nests, or chant a gratulating hymn To the blue ether and bespangled plain; Even so, in many a re-constructed 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 countenance, Even in her own despite, both feed and cheer; For all things are less dreadful than they seem.
TEMPTATIONS FROM ROMAN REFINEMENTS.
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 price 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 viewed As humanising 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
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