J Or, in his words who damn'd the base desire, Par be the thought from any verse of mine, The priestly brotherhood, devout, sincere, Where shall a teacher look, in days like these. Where beckoning Pleasure leads them, wildly strey, Have burst the bands, and cast the yoke away. Now borne upon the wings of truth sublime, Review thy dim original and prime. This island, spot of unreclaim'd rude earth, The cradle that received thee at thy birth, Was rock'd by many a rough Norwegian blast, And Danish howlings scared thee as they pass’d: For thou wast born amid the din of arms, And suck'd a breast that panted with alarm3. While yet thou wast a grovelling puling chit, Thy bones not fashion'd, and thy joints not knit, The Roman taught thy stubborn knee to bow, Though twice a Cæsar could not bend thee now: His victory was that of orient light, When the sun's shafts disperse the gloom of night. Thy language at this distant moment shews How much the country to the conqueror owes; Expressive, energetic, and refined, It sparkles with the gems he left behina : He brought thy land a blessing when he came; He found thee savage and he left thee tame; Taught thee to clothe thy pink'd and painted bide And grace thy figure with a soldier's pride; He sow'd the seeds of order where he went, Improved thee far beyond his own intent; And while he ruled thee by the sword alone, Made thee at last a warrior like his own. Religion, if in heavenly truths attired, Needs only to be seen to be admired ; But thine, as dark as witcheries of the night, Was form’d to harden hearts and shock the sight, Thy Druids struck the well-strung harps they bore With fingers deeply dyed in human gore; And while the victim slowly bled to death, Upon the rolling chords rung out his dying breath. Who brought the lamp, that with awaking beams Dispellid thy gloom, and broke away thy dreams, Tradition, now decrepit and worn out, Babbler of ancient fables, leaves a doubt: But still light reach'd thee; and those gods of thine, Woden and Thor, each tottering in his shrine, . Thy soldiers, the l'ope's wl'.. Were train d beneath toll And when he hid them Would hunt a Saracent Larisa of life, to win in a That proved a mint of WIN 1, .. They left their bonek ber en woztheless absolution The sust the Yeriest alate That ever drang'd a chain, iti Thy monarchs arbitrary, ur. Thoronetres the slaves of h Distan'd thy Counsels, ma Found thee a goodly spoir"...Tosh Tby chiefs, the lord of Tan, a 7+TI Provoked and harassid, 1. Call thee n vay from pro Domestic happiness and To waste thy life in aran 1 |