No Spirit was she; that my heart betrayed,
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,

Like sunny mist;

at length the golden hair,

Shape, limbs, and heavenly features, keeping pace
Each with the other in a lingering race
Of dissolution, melted into air.

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.

WHO comes,

III.

CHARLES THE SECOND.

with rapture greeted, and caress'd With frantic love, his kingdom to regain? Him Virtue's Nurse, Adversity, in vain Received, and fostered in her iron breast: For all she taught of hardiest and of best, Or would have taught, by discipline of pain And long privation, now dissolves amain, Or is remembered only to give zest

To wantonness.

Away, Circean revels!
But for what gain? if England soon must sink
Into a gulf which all distinction levels,

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,
Darkness before and danger's voice behind;
Yet not alone, nor helpless to repel

Sad thoughts; for from above the starry sphere Come secrets, whispered nightly to his ear; And the pure spirit of celestial light

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:
O could we copy their mild virtues, then
What joy to live, what blessedness to die!
Methinks their very names shine still and bright;

Apart, like glowworms on a summer night;

Or lonely tapers when from far they fling
A guiding ray; or seen, like stars on high,
Satellites burning in a lucid ring

Around meek Walton's heavenly memory.

VI.

CLERICAL INTEGRITY.

NOR shall the eternal roll of praise reject Those Unconforming; whom one rigorous day Drives from their Cures, a voluntary prey

To poverty, and grief, and disrespect,

And some to want,
as if by tempests wrecked
On a wild coast; how destitute! did they
Feel not that Conscience never can betray,
That peace of mind is Virtue's sure effect?
Their altars they forego, their homes they quit,
Fields which they love, and paths they daily trod,
And cast the future upon Providence;

As men the dictates of whose inward sense
Outweighs the world; whom self-deceiving wit
Lures not from what they deem the cause of God.

VII.

PERSECUTION OF THE SCOTTISH COVENANTERS.

WHEN Alpine vales threw forth a suppliant cry, The majesty of England interposed

And the sword stopped; the bleeding wounds were closed;

And Faith preserved her ancient purity.
How little boots that precedent of good,
Scorned or forgotten, thou canst testify,

For England's shame, O Sister Realm! from wood,

Mountain, and moor, and crowded street, where lie The headless martyrs of the Covenant,

Slain by compatriot Protestants that draw

From councils senseless as intolerant

Their warrant.

Bodies fall by wild sword-law;

But who would force the Soul, tilts with a straw Against a Champion cased in adamant.

VIII.

ACQUITTAL OF THE BISHOPS.

A VOICE, from long-expecting thousands sent,
Shatters the air, and troubles tower and spire;
For Justice hath absolved the innocent,
And Tyranny is balked of her desire:
Up, down, the busy Thames - rapid as fire
Coursing a train of gunpowder- it went,
And transport finds in every street a vent,
Till the whole City rings like one vast choir.
The Fathers urge the People to be still,

With outstretched hands and earnest speech,-in vain!

Yea, many, haply wont to entertain

Small reverence for the mitre's offices,
And to Religion's self no friendly will,
A Prelate's blessing ask on bended knees.