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THE COUNCIL OF CLERMONT.
"AND shall," the Pontiff asks, "profaneness flow
With prayers and blessings we your path will sow;
THE turbaned Race are poured in thickening
Along the west; though driven from Aquitaine, The Crescent glitters on the towers of Spain; And soft Italia feels renewed alarms;
*The decision of this Council was believed to be instantly known in remote parts of Europe.
The cimeter, that yields not to the charms
REDOUBTED King, of courage leonine,
To tell — how, finding in the rash distress
Of those Enthusiasts a subservient friend,
To giddier heights hath clomb the Papal sway.
REALMS quake by turns: proud Arbitress of grace,
The Church, by mandate shadowing forth the power
She arrogates o'er heaven's eternal door,
Straight from the sun and tainted air's embrace All sacred things are covered: cheerful morn no seemly garb is worn,
Grows sad as night,
Nor is a face allowed to meet a face
With natural smiles of greeting. Bells are dumb;
Ditches are graves,
funeral rites denied ;
And in the churchyard he must take his bride
And comfortless despairs the soul benumb.
As with the Stream our voyage we pursue,
Than aught the sky's fantastic element,
SCENE IN VENICE.
BLACK Demons hovering o'er his mitred head, To Cæsar's successor the Pontiff spake :
"Ere I absolve thee, stoop! that on thy neck Levelled with earth this foot of mine may tread." Then he, who to the altar had been led,
He whose strong arm the Orient could not check, He who had held the Soldan at his beck,
Stooped, of all glory disinherited,
And even the common dignity of man!
Amazement strikes the crowd: while many turn Their eyes away in sorrow, others burn
With scorn, invoking a vindictive ban
From outraged Nature; but the sense of most
UNLESS to Peter's Chair the viewless wind
As that by dreaming Bards to Love assigned,
Perplex the wise, the strong to overthrow; Through earth and heaven to bind and to unbind!
the thunder quails thee! - crouch, – rebuff
Shall be thy recompense! from land to land
And 'tis the Pope that wields it: whether rough
Or smooth his front, our world is in his hand!
TO THE CLOSE OF THE TROUBLES IN THE REIGN OF CHARLES I.
How soon, alas! did Man, created pure,
By Angels guarded, deviate from the line