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 quire. 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.
CALM as an under-current, strong to draw Millions of waves into itself, and run, From sea to sea, impervious to the sun And ploughing storm, the spirit of Nassau (By constant impulse of religious awe Swayed, and thereby enabled to contend With the wide world's commotions) from its end Swerves not-diverted by a casual law.
Had mortal action e'er a nobler scope?
The Hero comes to liberate, not defy;
And, while he marches on with righteous hope, Conqueror beloved! expected anxiously!) The vacillating Bondman of the Pope
Shrinks from the verdict of his stedfast eye.
OBLIGATIONS OF CIVIL TO RELIGIOUS LIBERTY.
Ungrateful Country if thou e'er forget The sons who for thy civil rights have bled! How, like a Roman, Sidney bowed his head, And Russel's milder blood the scaffold
But These had fallen for profitless regret
Had not thy holy Church her champions bred, And claims from other worlds inspirited
The star of Liberty to rise. Nor yet
(Grave this within thy heart!) if spiritual things Be lost, through apathy, or scorn, or fear,
Shalt thou thy humbler franchises support, However hardly won or justly dear:
What came from heaven to heaven by nature clings, And, if dissevered thence, its course is short.
Dows a swift Stream, thus far, a bold design, Have we pursued, with livelier stir of heart Than his who sees, borne forward by the Rhine, The living landscapes greet him, and depart; Sees spires fast sinking-up again to start! And strives the towers to number, that recline O'er the dark steeps, or on the horizon line Striding with shattered crests his eye athwart. So have We hurried on with troubled pleasure : Henceforth, as on the bosom of a stream
That slackens, and spreads 'wide a watery gleain, We, nothing loth a lingering course to measure, May gather up our thoughts, and mark at leisure Features that else had vanished like a dream.
THERE are no colours 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 virtups, then What joy to live, what blessedness to die! Methinks their very names shine still and bright; Apart-like glow-worms 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.
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