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Afflictions of HARP! could'st thou venture, on thy boldest string,
England The faintest note to echo which the blast
Caught from the hand of Moses as it passed
O’er Sinai's top, or from the Shepherd-king,
Early awake, by Siloa's brook, to sing
Of dread Jehovah; then should wood and waste
Hear also of that name,
Off to the mountains, like a covering
Of which the Lord was weary. Weep, oh! weep,
Weep with the good, beholding King and Priest
Despised by that stern God to whom they raise
Their suppliant hands ; but holy is the feast
He keepeth ; like the firmament his ways:
His statutes like the chambers of the deep.
From the Restoration to the Present Times.
I saw the figure of a lovely Maid
Seated alone beneath a darksome tree,
Whose fondly-overhanging canopy
Set off her brightness with a pleasing shade.
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.
Patriotic Last night, without a voice, that Vision spake Sympathies Fear to my Soul, and sadness which might seem
Wholly dissevered from our present thene ;
Yet, my beloved Country! I partake
Of kindred agitations for thy sake;
Thou, too, doth 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.
Charles the Who comes with rapture greeted, and caressed
Second 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,
By Poets loathed; from which Historians shrink!
YET Truth is keenly sought for, and the wind Latitudinar-
Charged with rich words poured out in thought's ianism
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."
There are no colours in the fairest sky
Walton's So fair as these. The feather, whence the
Was shaped that traced the lives of these good men,
Dropped from an Angel's wing. With moistened
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 glow-worms on a summer night ;
Or lonely tapers when from far they fing
A guiding ray; or seen-like stars on high,
Satellites burning in a lucid ring
Around meek Walton's heavenly memory.
Clerical Nor shall the eternal roll of praise reject
Integrity 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,
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
As men the dictate of whose inward sense
Outweighs the world; whom self-deceiving wit
Lures not from what they deem the cause of God.
Persecution When Alpine Vales threw forth a suppliant cry,
of the The majesty of England interposed Scottish Covenanters
And the sword stopped ; the bleeding wounds
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.