Conjectures.

F there be prophets on whose spirits rest
Past things, revealed like future, they can tell
What Powers, presiding o'er the sacred well
Of Christian Faith, this savage Island blessed
With its first bounty. Wandering through the west,
Did holy Paul a while in Britain dwell,
And 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.

CREAMS round the Arch-druid's brow the seamew

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As Menai's foam; and toward the mystic ring [white

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
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.

Uncertainty.

DARKNESS surrounds us; seeking, we are lost On Snowdon's wilḍs, 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 fame,
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.

Persecution.

AMENT! for Dioclesian'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 th' 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.

Recovery.

AS, when a storm hath ceased, the birds regain

Their cheerfulness, and busily re-trim

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!

Dissensions.

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
Uplifting toward high Heaven her fiery brand,
A cherished Priestess of the new-baptized!
But chastisement shall follow peace despised.
The Pictish cloud darkens the enervate land
By Rome abandoned; vain are suppliant cries,
And prayers that would undo her forced farewell;
For she returns not.-Awed by her own knell,
She casts the Britons upon strange Allies,
Soon to become more dreaded enemies
Than heartless misery called them to repel.

Struggle of the Britons against the Barbarians. ISE!-they have risen: of brave Aneurin ask

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How they have scourged old foes, perfidious friends: The Spirit of Caractacus descends

Upon the Patriots, animates their task;—
Amazement runs before the towering casque
Of Arthur, bearing through the stormy field
The virgin sculptured on his Christian shield :—
Stretched in the sunny light of victory bask
The host that followed Urien as he strode

O'er heaps of slain ;--from Cambrian wood and moss
Druids descend, auxiliars of the Cross;

Bards, nursed on blue Plinlimmon's still abode,
Rush on the fight, to harps preferring swords,

And everlasting deeds to burning words!

Saron Conquest.

OR wants the cause the panic-striking aid
Of hallelujahs tost from hill to hill

For instant victory. But Heaven's high will
Permits a second and a darker shade

Of Pagan night. Afflicted and dismayed,

The Relics of the sword flee to the mountains :

O wretched Land! whose tears have flowed like fountains; Whose arts and honours in the dust are laid

By men yet scarcely conscious of a care

For other monuments than those of Earth;

Who, as the fields and woods have given them birth,
Will build their savage fortunes only there;

Content, if foss, and barrow, and the girth

Of long-drawn rampart, witness what they were.