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And, tired with sport, wouldst sink asleep
Upon the couchant Lion's mane!
With rolling years thy strength increased;
And, far beyond thy native East,
To thee, by varying titles known,
As variously thy power was shown,
Did incense-bearing Altars rise,
Which caught the blaze of sacrifice,
From Suppliants panting for the skies!

What though this ancient Earth be trod
No more by step of Demi-god,
Mounting from glorious deed to deed
As thou from clime to clime didst lead,
Yet still, the bosom beating high,
And the hushed farewell of an eye
Where no procrastinating gaze
A last infirmity betrays,
Prove that thy heaven-descended sway
Shall ne'er submit to cold decay.
By thy divinity impelled,

The Stripling seeks the tented field;
The aspiring Virgin kneels; and, pale
With awe, receives the hallowed veil,
A soft and tender Heroine
Vowed to severer discipline;
Inflamed by thee, the blooming Boy
Makes of the whistling shrouds a toy,
And of the Ocean's dismal breast
A play-ground and a couch of rest;
Thou to his dangers dost enchain,
Mid the blank world of snow and ice,
The Chamois-chaser, awed in vain
By chasm or dizzy precipice;

And hast Thou not with triumph seen
flow soaring Mortals glide serene
From cloud to cloud, and brave the light
With bolder than Icarian flight?
Or, in their bells of crystal, dive

Where winds and waters cease to strive,
For no unholy visitings,
Among the monsters of the Deep,
And all the sad and precious things
Which there in ghastly silence sleep?
-Within our fearless reach are placed
The secrets of the burning Waste,-
Egyptian Tombs unlock their Dead,
Nile trembles at his fountain head;
Thou speak'st-and lo! the polar Seas
Unbosom their last mysteries.

-But oh what transports, what sublime reward,
Won from the world of mind, dost thou prepare

For philosophic Sage-or high-souled Bard
Who, for thy service trained in lonely woods,
Hath fed on pageants floating through the air,
Or calentured in depth of limpid floods;

Nor grieves-tho' doomed, thro' silent night, to bear
The domination of his glorious themes,
Or struggle in the net-work of thy dreams!

If there be movements in the Patriot's soul, From source still deeper, and of higher worth, Tis the the quickening impulse to control, And in due season send the mandate forth;

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Dread Minister of wrath!

Who to their destined punishment dost urge

The Pharaohs of the earth, the men of hardened heart!
Not unassisted by the flattering stars,
Thou strew'st temptation o'er the path
When they in pomp depart,

With trampling horses and refulgent cars-
Soon to be swallowed by the briny surge;

Or cast, for lingering death, on unknown strands;
Or stifled under weight of desert sands-
An Army now, and now a living hill
Heaving with convulsive throes,-
It quivers-and is still;

Or to forget their madness and their woes,
Wrapt in a winding-sheet of spotless snows!

Back flows the willing current of my Song:
If to provoke such doom the Impious dare,
Why should it daunt a blameless prayer?
-Bold Goddess! range our Youth among;
Nor let thy genuine impulse fail to beat
In hearts no longer young;

Still may a veteran Few have pride

In thoughts whose sternness makes them sweet;
In fixed resolves by reason justified;
That to their object cleave like sleet
Whitening a pine-tree's northern side,
While fields are naked far and wide.

But, if such homage thou disdain
As doth with mellowing years agree,
One rarely absent from thy train
More humble favours may obtain
For thy contented Votary.

She, who incites the frolic lambs
In presence of their heedless dams,
And to the solitary fawn

Vouchsafes her lessons-bounteous Nymph
That wakes the breeze-the sparkling lymph
Doth hurry to the lawn;

She, who inspires that strain of joyance holy
Which the sweet Bird, misnamed the melancholy
Pours forth in shady groves, shall plead for me;
And vernal mornings opening bright
With views of undefined delight,

And cheerful songs, and suns that shine

On busy days, with thankful nights, be mine.

But thou, O Goddess! in thy favourite Isle
(Freedom's impregnable redoubt,
The wide Earth's store-house fenced about
With breakers roaring to the gales
That stretch a thousand thousand sails)
Quicken the Slothful, and exalt the Vile!
Thy impulse is the life of Fame;
Glad Hope would almost cease to be
If torn from thy society;

And Love, when worthiest of the name,
Is proud to walk the Earth with thee!

Ecclesiastical Sketches.'

A verse may catch a wandering Soul, that flies
Profounder Tracts, and by a blest surprise
Convert delight into a Sacrifice.

ADVERTISEMENT.

DURING the month of December, 1820, I accompanied a much loved and honoured Friend in a walk through different parts of his Estate, with a view to fix upon the site of a New Church which he intended to erect. It was one of the most beautiful mornings of a mild season, our feelings were in harmony with the cherishing influences of the scene; and, such being our purpose, we were naturally led to look back upon past events with wonder and gratitude, and on the future with hope. Not long afterwards, some of the Sonnets which will be found towards the close of this Series

were produced as a private memorial of that morning's occupation.

The Catholic Question, which was agitated in Parliament about that time, kept my thoughts in the same course; and it struck me that certain points in the Ecclesiastical History of our Country might advantageously be presented to view in Verse. Accordingly I took up the subject, and what I now offer to the Reader was the result.

Of Liberty, and smote the plausive string
Till the check'd torrent, proudly triumphing,
Won for herself a lasting resting-place:
Now seek upon the heights of Time the source
Of a HOLY RIVER, on whose banks are found
Sweet pastoral flowers, and laurels that have crown'd
Full oft the unworthy brow of lawless force;
Where, for delight of him who tracks its course,
Immortal amaranth and palms abound.

CONJECTURES.

Is there be Prophets on whose spirits rest
What Powers, presiding o'er the sacred Well
Past things, reveal'd like future, they can tell
Of Christian Faith, this savage Island bless'd
With its first bounty. Wandering through the West,
Did holy Paul a while in Britain dwell,
And call the Fountain forth by miracle,
Or He, whose bonds dropped off, whose prison doors
And with dread signs the nascent Stream invest?
Flew open, by an Angel's voice unbarr'd?
Or some of humbler name, to these wild shores

When this work was far advanced, I was agreeably Storm-driven, who, having seen the cup of woe
surprised to find that my Friend, Mr Southey, was en-Pass from their Master, sojourn'd here to guard
gaged, with similar views, in writing a concise History The precious Current they had taught to flow?
of the Church in England. If our Productions, thus
unintentionally coinciding, shall be found to illustrate
each other, it will prove a high gratification to me,
which I am sure my Friend will participate.

W. WORDSWORTH.

RYDAL MOUNT, January 24, 1822.

PART I.

FROM THE INTRODUCTION OF CHRISTIANITY
INTO BRITAIN, TO THE CONSUMMATION
OF THE PAPAL DOMINION.
INTRODUCTION.

I, WHO accompanied with faithful pace
Cerulean Duddon from his cloud-fed spring,
And loved with Spirit ruled by his to sing
Of mountain quiet and boon nature's grace;
I, who essay'd the nobler Stream to trace

For the convenience of passing from one point of the subject to another without shocks of abruptness, this work has taken the shape of a series of Sonnets: but the Reader, it is hoped, will find that the pictures are often so closely connected as to have the effect of a poem in a form of stanza, to which there is no objection but one that bears on the Poet only-its difficulty.

TREPIDATION OF THE DRUIDS.

SCREAMS round the Arch-druid's brow the Seamewa—
white

As Menai's foam; and tow'rd 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
His transports? wither his heroic strains?
But all shall be fulfill'd;-the Julian spear
A way first open'd: and, with Roman chains,
The tidings come of Jesus crucified;
They come-they spread-the weak, the suffering, bear
Receive the faith, and in the hope abide.

Stillingfleet adduces many arguments in support of this oplelon but they are unconvincing. The latter part of this Sonnet refers a favourite notion of Catholic Writers, that Joseph of Arimathe and his companions brought Christianity into Britain, and built rude Church at Glastonbury; alluded to bereafter, in a passage aj on the dissolution of Monasteries.

This water-fowl was, among the Druids, an emblem of thos traditions connected with the deluge that made an important par of their mysteries. The Cormorant was a bird of bad omen.

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 bestow'd!
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 flow'd,
Justice, and Order. Tremblingly escaped,
As if with prescience of the coming storm,
That intimation when the stars were shaped;
And still, 'mid you 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 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 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.

LAMENT! for Diocletian's fiery sword
Works busy as the lightning; but instinct
With malice ne'er to deadliest weapon link'd,
Which God's ethereal storehouses afford:
Against the followers of the incarnate Lord
It rages-some are smitten in the field-
Some pierced beneath 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-offer'd 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 retrim
Their nests, or chaunt a gratulating hymn
To the blue ether and bespangled plain;

This bill at St Alban's must have been an object of great interest to the imagination of the venerable Bede, who thus describes it with a delicate feeling delightful to meet with in that rude age, traces of which are frequent in his works: Variis barbarum floribas depictus imò usquequaque vestitus in quo nibil repentè arfwum nihil præceps, nihil abruptam, quem lateribas longé latèque deductum in modum æquoris natura complanat, digoum videlicet eum pro insita sibi specie venustatis jam olim reddens, qui beati martyris cruore dicaretur,

Even so, in many a re-constructed fane,
Have the Survivors of this Storm renew'd
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 flow'd, 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 view'd
As humanizing graces, are but parts
And instruments of deadliest servitude!

DISSENTIONS.

THAT heresies should strike (if truth be scann'd
Presumptuously) their roots both wide and deep
Is natural as dreams to feverish sleep.
Lo! Discord at the Altar dares to stand
Uplifting tow'rd 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 abandon'd; 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 call'd them to repel.

STRUGGLE OF THE BRITONS AGAINST THE
BARBARIANS.

RISE!-they have risen: of brave Aneurin ask
How they have scourg'd old foes, perfidious friends:
The spirit of Caractacus defends

The Patriots, animates their glorious task;—
Amazement runs before the towering casque
Of Arthur, bearing through the stormy field
The Virgin sculptured on his Christian shield:-
Stretch'd in the sunny light of victory bask
The hosts that follow'd 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!

SAXON CONQUEST.

NOR 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; 2
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.

MONASTERY OF OLD BANGOR.3

THE oppression of the tumult-wrath and scorn-
The tribulation-and the gleaming blades-
Such is the impetuous spirit that pervades
The song of Taliesin; 4-Ours shall mourn
The unarmed Host who by their prayers would turn
The sword from Bangor's walls, and guard the store
Of Aboriginal and Roman lore,

And Christian monuments, that now must burn
To senseless ashes. Mark! how all things swerve
From their known course, or vanish like a dream;
Another language spreads from coast to coast;
Only perchance some melancholy Stream
And some indignant Hills old names preserve,
When laws, and creeds, and people all are lost!

CASUAL INCITEMENT.

A BRIGHT-HAIRED company of youthful Slaves,
Beautiful Strangers, stand within the pale
Of a sad market, ranged for public sale,
Where Tiber's stream the immortal City laves;

Alluding to the victory gained under Germanus.—See Bede.

The last six lines of this Sonnet are chiefly from the prose of Daniel; and here I will state (though to the Readers whom this Poem will chiefly interest it is unnecessary), that my obligations to other Prose Writers are frequent, -obligations which, even if I had not a pleasure in courting, it would have been presumptuous to shun, in treating an historical subject. I must, however, particu larise Fuller, to whom I am indebted in the Sonnet upon Wicliffe, and in other instances. And upon the Acquittal of the Seven Bishops I have done little more than versify a lively description of that Event in the Memoirs of the first Lord Lonsdale.

3 Ethelforth reached the Convent of Bangor, he perceived the Monks, twelve hundred in number, offering prayers for the success of their Countrymen: If they are praying against us,' he exclaimed, they are fighting against us; and he ordered them to be first attacked: they were destroyed; and, appalled by their fate, the courage of Brocmail wavered, and he fled from the field in dismay. Thus abandoned by their leader, his army soon gave way, and Ethelforth obtained a decisive conquest. Ancient Bangor itself soon fell into his hands, and was demolished; the noble monastery was levelled to the ground; its library, which is mentioned as a large one, the collection of ages, the repository of the most precious monuments of the ancient Britons, was consumed; half-ruined walls, gates, and rubbish, were all that remained of the magnificent edifice. See Turner's valuable History of the AngloSaxons.

The account Bede gives of this remarkable event, suggests a most striking warning against National and Religious prejudices.

4 Taliesin was present at the battle which preceded this desola

tion.

ANGLI by name; and not an Angel waves
His wing who seemeth lovelier in Heaven's eye
Than they appear to holy Gregory;

Who, having learnt that name, salvation craves
For Them, and for their Land. The earnest Sire,
His questions urging, feels in slender ties
Of chiming sound commanding sympathies;
DE-IRIANS he would save them from God's IRE;
Subjects of Saxon ELLA-they shall sing
Glad HALLElujahs to the eternal King!

GLAD TIDINGS.

FOR ever hallowed be this morning fair,
Blest be the unconscious shore on which ye tread,
And blest the silver Cross, which ye, instead
Of martial banner, in procession bear;
The Cross preceding Him who floats in air,
The pictured Saviour!-By Augustin led,
They come and onward travel without dread,
Chanting in barbarous ears a tuneful prayer,

Sung for themselves, and those whom they would free!
Rich conquest waits them:-the tempestuous sea

Of Ignorance, that ran so rough and high,
And heeded not the voice of clashing swords,
These good men humble by a few bare words,
And calm with fear of God's divinity.

PAULINUS.'

BUT, to remote Northumbria's royal Hall,
Where thoughtful Edwin, tutored in the school
Of Sorrow, still maintains a heathen rule,
Who comes with functions apostolical?
Mark him, of shoulders curved, and stature tall,
Black hair, and vivid eye, and meagre cheek,
His prominent feature like an eagle's beak;
A Man whose aspect doth at once appal,
And strike with reverence. The Monarch leans
Towards the truths this Delegate propounds,
Repeatedly his own deep mind he sounds
With careful hesitation,-then convenes
A synod of his Counsellors;-give ear,
And what a pensive Sage doth utter, hear!

PERSUASION.

« MAN'S life is like a Sparrow, mighty King! That, stealing in while by the fire you sit

The person of Paulinus is thus described by Bede, from the me mory of an eye-witness: «Longæ staturæ, paululum incurvas, nigro capillo, facie macielentà, naso adunco, pertenui, venerabilis simul et terribilis aspectu,»

See the original of this speech in Bede.-The Conversion of Edwin, as related by him, is highly interesting-and the breaking up of this Council accompanied with an event so striking and cheracteristic, that I am tempted to give it at length, in a translation,

Who, exclaimed the King, when the Council was ended, shall first desecrate the Altars and the Temples? I, answered the Chief Priest, for who more fit than myself, through the wisdom which the true God hath given me to destroy, for the good example of others, what in foolishness I worshipped? Immediately, casting away vain superstition, he besought the King to grant him, what the laws did not allow to a priest, arms and a courser; which mounting, and furnished with a sword and lance, he proceeded to destroy the Idols. The crowd, seeing this, thought him mad-he however halted not, but, approaching, he profaned the Temple,

Housed with rejoicing Friends, is seen to flit
Safe from the storm, in comfort tarrying.
Here did it enter-there, on hasty wing
Flies out, and passes on from cold to cold;
But whence it came we know not, nor behold
Whither it goes. Even such that transient Thing,
The human Soul; not utterly unknown
While in the Body lodged, her warm abode;

But from what world She came, what woe or weal
On her departure waits, no tongue hath shown;
This mystery if the Stranger can reveal,
His be a welcome cordially bestowed!»

With the vain world; who, outwardly as bare
As winter trees, yield no fallacious sign
That the firm soul is clothed with fruit divine!
Such Priest, when service worthy of his care
Has called him forth to breathe the common air,
Might seem a saintly Image from its shrine
Descended:-happy are the eyes that meet
The apparition; evil thoughts are stayed

At his approach, and low-bowed necks entreat
A benediction from his voice or hand;

Whence grace, through which the heart can understand;
And vows, that bind the will, in silence made.

CONVERSION.

PROMPT transformation works the novel lore,
The Council closed, the Priest in full career
Rides forth, an armed man, and hurls a spear
To desecrate the Fane which heretofore
Be served in folly.-Woden falls-and Thor
Is overturned; the mace, in battle heaved
So might they dream) till victory was achieved,
Drops, and the God himself is seen no more.
Temple and Altar sink, to hide their shame
Amid oblivious weeds. « O come to me,
Ye heavy laden!» such the inviting voice

OTHER INFLUENCES.

AH, when the Frame, round which in love we clung,

Is chilled by death, does mutual service fail?
Is tender pity then of no avail ?

Are intercessions of the fervent tongue

A waste of hope!-From this sad source have sprung
Rites that console the spirit, under grief

Which ill can brook more rational relief:
Hence prayers are shaped amiss, and dirges sung
For those whose doom is fixed! The way is smooth
For Power that travels with the human heart:
Confession ministers, the pang to soothe

Heard near fresh streams,—and thousands, who rejoice In him who at the ghost of guilt doth start.

In the new Rite-the pledge of sanctity,
Shall, by regenerate life, the promise claim.

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APOLOGY.

Non scorn the aid which Fancy oft doth lend
The Soul's eternal interests to promote;
Death, darkness, danger, are our natural lot;
And evil Spirits may our walk attend
For aught the wisest know or comprehend;
Then be good Spirits free to breathe a note
Of elevation; let their odours float
Around these Converts; and their glories blend,
Outshining nightly tapers, or the blaze

Of the noon-day. Nor doubt that golden cords
Of good works, mingling with the visions raise
The soul to purer worlds: and who the line
Shall draw, the limits of the power define,
That even imperfect faith to Man affords?

PRIMITIVE SAXON CLERGY. 2

How beautiful your presence, how benign,
Servants of God! who not a thought will share
easting against it the lance which he had held in his hand, and,
exalting in acknowledgment of the worship of the true God, he
ordered his companions to pull down the Temple, with all its en-
closures. The place is shown where those idols formerly stood, not

far from York, at the source of the river Derwent, and is at this day

called Gormand Gaham..

The early propagators of Christianity were accustomed to preach sear rivers for the convenience of baptism.

Having spoken of the zeal, disinterestedness, and temperance of the clergy of those times, Bede thus proceeds: Unde et in magna erat veneratione tempore illo religionis habitus, ita ut ubicunque clericus aliquis, aut monachus adveniret, gaudenter ab omnibus tanquam Dei famulus exciperetur. Etiam si in itinere pergens inveniretur, accurrebant, et flexá cervice, vel manu signari, vel ore illins so benedici, gaudebant. Verbis quoque horum exhortatoriis diligenter auditum præbebant. Lib. iii, cap.

26.

SECLUSION.

LANCE, shield, and sword relinquished-at his side
A Bead-roll, in his hand a clasped Book,

Or staff more harmless than a Shepherd's crook,
The war-worn Chieftain quits the world—to hide
His thin autumnal locks where Monks abide
In cloistered privacy. But not to dwell
In soft repose he comes. Within his cell
Round the decaying trunk of human pride,
At morn, and eve, and midnight's silent hour,
Do penitential cogitations cling:
Like ivy, round some ancient elm, they twine
In grisly folds and strictures serpentine;
Yet, while they strangle without mercy, bring
For recompense their own perennial bower.

CONTINUED.

METHINKS that to some vacant Hermitage
My feet would rather turn-to some dry nook
Scooped out of living rock, and near a brook
Hurled down a mountain-cove from stage to stage,
Yet tempering, for my sight, its bustling rage
In the soft heaven of a translucent pool;
Thence creeping under forest arches cool,
Fit haunt of shapes whose glorious equipage
Would elevate
A beechen bowl,
dreams.
my
A maple dish, my furniture should be;
Crisp, yellow leaves my bed; the hooting Owl
My night-watch: nor should e'er the crested Fowl
From thorp or vill his matins sound for me,
Tired of the world and all its industry.

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