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Founded in truth; by blood of Martyrdom
And O, ye swelling hills, and spacious plains! Besprent from shore to shore with steeple-towers, And spires whose 'silent finger points to heaven;" Nor wanting, at wide intervals, the bulk Of ancient minster lifted above the cloud
Of the dense air, which town or city breeds
An air and mien of dignified pursuit ;
The Poet, fostering for his native land Such hope, entreats that servants may abound Of those pure altars worthy; ministers Detached from pleasure, to the love of gain Superior, insusceptible of pride, And by ambitious longings undisturbed; Men whose delight is where their duty leads Or fixes them; whose least distinguished day Shines with some portion of that heavenly lustre Which makes the Sabbath lovely in the sight Of blessed angels, pitying human cares. -And, as on earth it is the doom of truth To be perpetually attacked by foes Open or covert, be that priesthood still, For her defence, replenished with a band Of strenuous champions, in scholastic arts Thoroughly disciplined; (if in the course Of the revolving world's disturbances Cause should recur, which righteous Heaven avert! To meet such trial, (from their spiritual sires Degenerate; who, constrained to wield the sword Of disputation, shrunk not, though assailed With hostile din, and combating in sight Of angry umpires, partial and unjust; And did, thereafter, bathe their hands in fire, So to declare the conscience satisfied: Nor for their bodies would accept release; But, blessing God and praising him, bequeathed With their last breath, from out the smouldering
The faith which they by diligence had earned,
Even such a Man (inheriting the zeal And from the sanctity of elder times Not deviating, a priest, the like of whom, If multiplied, and in their stations set, Would o'er the bosom of a joyful land Spread true religion and her genuine fruits) Before me stood that day; on holy ground Fraught with the relics of mortality, Exalting tender themes, by just degrees To lofty raised; and to the highest, last; The head and mighty paramount of truths,— Immortal life, in never-fading worlds, For mortal creatures, conquered and secured.
That basis laid, those principles of faith
"At morn or eve, in your retired domain, Perchance you not unfrequently have marked A Visitor-in quest of herbs and flowers; Too delicate employ, as would appear, For one, who, though of drooping mien, had yet From nature's kindliness received a frame
Robust as ever rural labor bred."
The Solitary answered: "Such a Form
We met, and passed, like shadows. I have heard,
The Vicar smiled,-.
"Died he then Of pain and grief?" the Solitary asked, "Do not believe it; never could that be!"
"He loved," the Vicar answered, "deeply loved, Loved fondly, truly, fervently; and dared At length to tell his love, but sued in vain; Rejected, yea repelled; and, if with scorn Upon the haughty maiden's brow, 't is but A high-prized plume which female Beauty wears In wantonness of conquest, or puts on To cheat the world, or from herself to hide Humiliation, when no longer free.
That he could brook, and glory in ;—but when
An object worthier of regard than he,
Such was that strong concussion; but the Man, Who trembled, trunk and limbs, like some huge oak By a fierce tempest shaken, soon resumed The stedfast quiet natural to a mind
Of composition gentle and sedate,
And, in its movements, circumspect and slow.
To tinge his cheek; and through his frame it crept
Such universal change as autumn makes
'Tis affirmed By poets skilled in nature's secret ways