Make all his children infidels, and found An English heresy on Christian ground." "Whilst I was poor," said Allen, "none would care What my poor notions of religion were; None ask'd me whom I worshipp'd, how I pray'd, If due obedience to the laws were paid: My good adviser taught me to be still, Nor to make converts had I power or will. I preach'd no foreign doctrine to my wife, And never mention'd Luther in my life; I, all they said, say what they would, allow'd, And when the fathers bade me bow, I bow'd; Their forms I follow'd, whether well or sick, And was a most obedient Catholic. But I had money, and these pastors found My notions vague, heretical, unsound: A wicked book they seized; the very Turk Could not have read a more pernicious work; To me pernicious, who if it were good Or evil question'd not, nor understood: Oh! had I little but the book possess'd, I might have read it, and enjoy'd my rest." Alas! poor Allen--through his wealth was seen Crimes that by poverty conceal'd had been: Faults that in dusty pictures rest unknown, Are in an instant through the varnish shown. He told their cruel mercy; how at last, In Christian kindness for the merits past, They spared his forfeit life, but bade him fly, Or for his crime and contumacy die; Fly from all scenes, all objects of delight: His wife, his children, weeping in his sight, All urging him to flee, he fled, and cursed his flight. He next related how he found a way, Guideless and grieving, to Campeachy-Bay: There in the woods he wrought, and there, among Some lab'ring seamen, heard his native tongue: The sound, one moment, broke upon his pain With joyful force; he long'd to hear again: Again he heard; he seized an offer'd hand, "And when beheld you last our native land!" He cried, "and in what country? quickly say." The seamen answer'd--strangers all were they; Only one at his native port had been; He, landing once, the quay and church had seen, For that esteem'd; but nothing more he knew. Still more to know, would Allen join the crew, Sail where they sail'd, and, many a peril past, They at his kinsman's isle their anchor cast; But him they found not, nor could one relate Aught of his will, his wish, or his estate. This grieved not Allen; then again he sail'd For England's coast, again his fate prevailed: War raged, and he, an active man and strong, Was soon impress'd, and served his country long. By various shores he pass'd, on various seas, Never so happy as when void of ease. - And then he told how in a calm distress'd, Day after day his soul was sick of rest; When, as a log upon the deep they stood, Then roved his spirit to the inland wood; Till, while awake, he dream'd, that on the seas Were his loved home, the hill, the stream, the trees: He gazed, he pointed to the scenes: --"There stand My wife, my children, 'tis my lovely land. See! there my dwelling--oh! delicious scene Of my best life: --unhand me--are ye men?" And thus the frenzy ruled him, till the wind