THERE liv'd a Race to good @3Charissa@1 dear, Who rais'd a thousand Domes devote to Pray'r; A thousand mattin Choirs with White array'd, In tuneful Tributes all their Vows convey'd; Then Charity was wont her Isle to love, And oft for this to change the Realms above: But when she hapless found fierce Rage begin, Where Force reform'd but by a pious Sin, When arm'd Devotion would the Priest expel, And Royal Sacrilege was christen'd Zeal, She view'd, she mourn'd, she fled her rifled Isle, While ravenous @3Henry@1 gave a Loose to Spoil. And now where Towers stretch'd far their taper Shade, Where hallow'd Walls religious Pomp display'd The solitary Traveller stares around, Oft halts——oft deems he hears some screaming Sound, And treads with trembling Knees the consecrated Ground. For oft o'er Graves the Shepherd tends his Herd, And points where Saints and Martyrs lay interr'd; Here in still Deep of Night are Peasants sear'd, When the tall Ghosts stalk slow with Steps unheard, When moaning Cries the lonesome Ruins fill, So pitiful they howl! and shriek so hollow shrill! These dismal Yells the Shepherds shiv'ring hear, And feign bold Talk to chace the freezing Fear; But when the Nod of some much-injur'd Shade Sadly invites 'em with his beck'ning Head, They fly. They wonder at their Speed unknown, Glad that they shun the Sprite—yet, hast'ning on, Oft look behind to view the Sprite they shun. Where holy Pilgrims wont to kneel and pray, Now browzing Goats, and lowing Oxen stray, O'er mould'ring Pillars creeps the blushing Vine, And leafy Fig invests each solemn Shrine, O'er venerable Virgins sculptur'd Heads, Nods horrid Thorn, and darksome Elder spreads, And with close Foliage o'er the pictur'd Walls, Time's favourite Plant the mournful Ivy crawls; Warning the Cock, no more the midnight Bell, Call'd the pale Sisters from the silent Cell, Whose Lamps to bless benighted Wand'rers Sight, Cast thro' thick Windows a dim doubtful Light. Religion wept.—to fill fair @3Albion@1's Throne, Till gracious Heav'n sent bounteous @3Anna@1 down; Alike for Mercy and for War renown'd, She rais'd the drooping Priesthood from the Ground; Stoop'd from her Throne to hear each mournful Sigh, With Thunder in her Hand, but Pity in her Eye; Queen of th'Afflicted! form'd by Heav'n to melt, At every Woe distrestful Virtue felt: Thy Name shall last with freshest Laurels crown'd, Long as thy @3Churchill@1's Sword shall be renown'd; 'Till @3Danube@1 cease to tremble at thy Name, Forgetful of the Blood that stain'd his fearful Stream. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...NEW YEAR'S EVE by THOMAS HARDY TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN: THE THIRD DAY: SCANDERBERG by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW WHEN THE COWS COME HOME by AGNES E. MITCHELL EROS TURANNOS by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON UNCLE ANANIAS by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON THE CRACKED BELL by CHARLES BAUDELAIRE THE TREE ACROSS THE ROAD by ELIZABETH KELTY BEITEL |