As when fair morning dries her pearly tears,
The mountain lifts o'er mists its lofty head;
Thus new to sight a gothick dome appears
With the grey rust of rolling years o'erspread.
Here Superstition holds her dreary reign,
And her lip-labour'd orisons she plies

In tongue unknown, when morn bedews the plain,
Or evening skirts with gold the western skies;
To the dumb stock she bends, or sculptur'd wall,
And many a cross she makes, and many a bead
lets fall.

Near to the dome a magick pair reside

Prompt to deceive, and practised to confound; Here hood-winkt Ignorance is seen to bide Stretching in darksome cave along the ground. No object e'er awakes his stupid eyes,

Nor voice articulate arrests his ears,

Save when beneath the moon pale spectres rise,
And haunt his soul with visionary fears :
Or when hoarse winds incavern'd murmur round,
And babbling echo wakes, and iterates the sound.

Where boughs entwining form an artful shade,

And in faint glimmerings just admit the light, There Errour sits in borrow'd white array'd,

And in Truth's form deceives the transient sight.

A thousand glories wait her opening day,

Her beaming lustre when fair Truth imparts; Thus Error would pour forth a spurious ray,

And cheat the unpractised mind with mimic arts: She cleaves with magic wand the liquid skies, Bids airy forms appear, and scenes fantastick rise.

A porter deaf, decrepid, old, and blind
Sits at the gate,-and lifts a liberal bowl.
With wine of wonderous power to lull the mind,
And check each vigorous effort of the soul:
Whoe'er un'wares shall ply his thirsty lip,
And drink in gulps the luscious liquor down,
Shall hapless from the cup delusion sip,

And objects see in features not their own ;
Each way-worn traveller that hither came,
He laved with copious draughts, and Prejudice his

name.

Within a various race are seen to wonne,

Props of her age, and pillars of her state, Which erst were nurtured by the wither'd crone, And born to Tyranny, her griesly mate; The first appear'd in pomp of purple pride, With triple crown erect, and throned high; Two golden keys hang dangling by his side To lock or ope the portals of the sky;

Crouching and prostrate there, ah sight unmeet! The crowned head would bow, and lick his dusty feet.

With bended arm he on a book reclined,

Fast lock'd with iron clasps from vulgar eyes; Heaven's gracious gift to light the wandering mind, To lift fallen man, and guide him to the skies! A man no more, a God he would be thought, And 'mazed mortals blindly must obey: With slight of hand he lying wonders wrought,

And near him loathsome heaps of reliques lay: Strange legends would he read, and figments dire Of Limbos' prison'd shades, and purgatory fire.

There meagre Penance sat, in sackcloth clad,

And to his breast close hugg'd the viper, Sin ; Yet oft with brandish'd whip would gall, as mad, With voluntary stripes his shrivel'd skin. . Counting large heaps of o'er-abounding good Of saints that dy'd within the church's pale; With gentler aspect there Indulgence stood, And to the needy culprit would retail;

There too, strange merchandize! he pardons sold, And treason would absolve, and murder purge with gold.

With shaven crown in a sequester'd cell
A lazy lubbard there was seen to lay;
No work had he, save some few beads to tell,
And indolently snore the hours away.
The nameless joys that bless the nuptial bed,
The mystick rites of Hymen's hallow'd tye
Impure he deems, and from them starts with dread,
As crimes of foulest stain, and deepest dye:
No social hopes hath he, no social fears,
But spends in lethargy devout the lingering years.

Gnashing his teeth in mood of furious ire

Fierce Persecution sat, and with strong breath Wakes into living flame large heaps of fire, And feasts on murders, massacres, and death. Near him was placed Procrustes' iron bed

To stretch or mangle to a certain size;

To see their writhing pains each heart must bleed,
To hear their doleful shrieks and piercing cries;
Yet he beholds them with unmoisten'd eye,
Their writhing pains his sport, their moans his
melody.

A gradual light diffusing o'er the gloom,
And slow approaching with majestick pace;
A lovely maid appears in Beauty's bloom,
With native charms, and unaffected grace:

Her hand a clear reflecting mirror shows,
In which all objects their true pictures wear,
And on her cheek a blush indignant glows

To see the horrid sorceries practised there; She snatch'd the volume from the tyrant's rage, Unlock'd its iron clasps,and ope'd the heavenly page.

'My name is Truth, and you, each holy seer,

"That all my steps with ardent gaze pursue, "Unveil, she said, the sacred mysteries here, "Give the celestial boon to public view.

"Tho' blatant Obloquy with leperous mouth "Shall blot your fame, and blast the generous deed,

"Yet in revolving years some generous youth

"Shall crown your virtuous act with glory's meed. "Your names adorn'd in *Gilpin's polish'd page, "With each historick grace, shall shine thro' every

age.

“With furious hate the fierce relentless power
"Exert of torment all her horrid skill;
"Tho' your lives meet too soon the fatal hour

་་

Scorching in flames, or writhing on the wheel;

The Rev. Mr. William Gilpin, author of the lives of Bernard Gilpin, Bishop Latimer, Wickliff, and the principal

of his followers.