The mitred wreath he wore, with reafon's fword
Staggering delufion's frauds; at length beneath
Rome's interdict expiring calm, refign'd
No vulgar foul that dar'd to heaven appeal!
But ah this fertile glebe, this fair domain,
Had well nigh ceded to the flothful hands
Of monks libidinous; ere Edward's care
The lavish hand of death-bed fear restrain'd..
Yet was he clear of fuperftition's taint ?
He too, mifdeemful of his wholesome law,
Ev'n he, expiring, gave his treasur'd gold
To fatten monks on Salem's distant foil!
Yes, the third Edward's breaft, to papal sway
So little prone, and fierce in honour's caufe,
Could fuperftition quell! before the towers
Of haggard Paris, at the thunder's voice
He drops the fword, and figns ignoble peace!
But ftill the night by Romish art diffus'd
Collects her clouds, and with flow pace recedes..
When, by foft Bourdeau's braver queen approv'd
Bold Wickliff rofe: and while the bigot power
Amidft her native darkness fkulk'd fecure,
The demon vanifh'd as he spread the day.
'So from his bofom Cacus breath'd of old
The pitchy cloud, and in a night of smoke
Secure a while his recreant life sustain’d;
Till fam'd Alcides, o'er his fubtleft wiles
Victorious, chear'd the ravag'd nations round.
Hail, honour'd Wickliff! enterprizing fage!
An Epicurus in the cause of truth!
For 'tis not radiant funs, the jovial hours
Of youthful spring, an æther all serene,
Nor all the verdure of Campania's vales,
Can chafe religious gloom! 'Tis reason, thought,
The light, the radiance that pervades the foul,
And sheds its beams on heaven's myfterious fway!
As yet this light but glimmer'd, and again
Error prevail'd; while kings by force uprais'd
Let loose the rage of bigots on their foes,
And seek affection by the dreadful boon
Of licens'd murder. Ev'n the kindest prince,
The most extended breast, the royal Hal!
All unrelenting heard the Lollards cry
Burft from the centre of remorseless flames;
Their shrieks endur'd! Oh stain to martial praise!
When Cobham, generous as the noble peer
That wears his honours, pay'd the fatal price
Of virtue blooming ere the ftorms were laid!
'Twas thus, alternate, truth's precarious flame
Decay'd or flourish'd. With malignant eye
The pontiff faw Britannia's golden fleece,
Once all his own, invest her worthier fons !
Her verdant valleys, and her fertile plains,
Yellow with grain, abjure his hateful sway!
Effay'd his utmost art, and inly own'd
No labours bore proportion to the prize.
So when the tempter view'd, with envious eye,
The firft fair pattern of the female frame,
All nature's beauties in one form display'd,
And centering there, in wild amaze he stood;
Then only envying heaven's creative hand:
Wish'd to his gloomy reign his envious arts
Might win this prize, and doubled every snare.
And vain were reafon, courage, learning, all,
Till power accede: till Tudor's wild caprice
Smile on their caufe; Tudor, whofe tyrant reign
With mental freedom crown'd, the beft of kings
Might envious view, and ill prefer their own!
Then Wolfey rofe, by nature form'd to seek
Ambition's trophies, by address to win,
By temper to enjoy-whofe humbler birth
Taught the gay fcenes of pomp to dazzle more.
Then from its towering height with horrid found Rush'd the proud abbey. Then the vaulted roofs, Torn from their walls, difclos'd the wanton scene' Of monkish chastity! Each angry friar
Crawl'd from his bedded ftrumpet, muttering low
An ineffectual curfe. The pervious nooks
That, ages paft, convey'd the guileful priest
To play fome image on the gaping crowd,
Imbibe the novel day-light; and expofe
Obvious the fraudful enginery of Rome.
As though this opening earth to neither realms
Should flash meridian day, 'the hooded race
Shudder abash'd to find their cheats difplay'd:
And, confcious of their guilt, and pleas'd to wave
Its fearful meed, refign'd their fair domain.
Nor yet fupine, nor void of rage, retir'd
The peft gigantic; whofe revengeful stroke
Ting'd the red annals of Maria's reign.
When from the tendereft breaft each wayward priest
Could banish mercy and implant a fiend!
When cruelty the funeral pyre uprear'd,
And bound religion there, and fir'd the bafe!
When the fame blaze, which on each tortur'd limb
Fed with luxuriant rage, in every face
Triumphant faith appear'd, and smiling hope.
O bleft Eliza! from thy piercing beam
Forth flew this hated fiend, the child of Rome;
Driven to the verge of Albion, linger'd there,
Then with her James receding, caft behind
One angry frown, and fought more fervile climes.
Henceforth they ply'd the long-continued tafk
Of righteous havock, covering diftant fields.
With the wrought remnants of the shatter'd pile..
While through the land the musing pilgrim fees
A tract of brighter green, and in the midft
Appears a mouldering wall, with ivy crown'd;
Or Gothic turret, pride of ancient days!
Now but of use to grace a rural scene;
To bound our vistas, and to glad the fons
*Of George's reign, referv'd for fairer times!
"Sed neque Medorum fylvæ, ditiffinia terra
"Nec pulcher Ganges, atque auro turbidus Hæmus, "Laudibus Angligenûm certent: non Bactra, nec Indi, "Totaque thuriferis Panchaia pinguis arenis.”
ET the green olive glad Hefperian shores
Her tawny citron, and her orange-groves,
These let Iberia boaft; but if in vain,.
To win the stranger plant's diffusive smile,
The Briton labours, yet our native minds,
Our conftant bofoms, thefe, the dazzled world
May view with envy; thefe, Iberian dames
Survey with fixt esteem and fond desire.
Haplefs Elvira! thy difaftrous fate
May well this truth explain; nor ill adorn
The British lyre; then chiefly, if the Muse,
Nor vain, nor partial, from the simple guise
Of ancient record catch the penfive lay;
And in lefs groveling accents give to fame.
Elvira lovelieft maid! th' Iberian realm
Could boaft no purer breaft, no fprightlier mind,
No race more fplendent, and no form fo fair.
Such was the chance of war, this peerlefs maid
In life's luxuriant bloom, enrich'd the spoil
Of British victors, victory's noblest pride!
She, fhe alone, amid the wailful train,
Of captive maids, affign'd to Henry's care;
Lord of her life, her fortune, and her fame!
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