"O where, ye PRELATES! is your light withdrawn? Where now the lustral influence of your lawn?[A] Where the meek crosier, and the crook of fleece, That guard the fold (not reckless of the peace)? Is there no wolf in all your pastur'd plains? No murrain rankling in your lambkins' veins? No lurking thief, by whom they nightly bleed? No arid spots refreshing streams that need? O why, forgetful of your solemn call, Sit ye, unmindful where the victims fall, To _hire_ ONE SACRIFICE with cords be bound, And your anointed hands inflict the wound? O desecrated thus, by off'rings high To demon passions!--Foul idolatry! If such your rites, no LEVITE here I view, But BAAL'S PRIESTS may leap and shout with you.[B] O whither urge these bodings of my breast? Let hope, let charity their flight arrest! In Britain's SARDIS, surely some remain Whose courtly robes yet bear no wilful stain! PRINCES! and PEERS! once more on you I call-- Save! save your tottering glory ere it fall! If truth, if virtue, to your hearts be dear; If sounds of sweet content you love to hear; If generous sons, and daughters chaste, you prize, And all a happy home's delightful ties; If just gradation on the social scale Be worth your care; if rank can aught avail: If rev'rence for the altar and the throne, Be yours, and GEORGE the lawful king, you own: If rights your fathers were combin'd to save, When Britain's sceptre to his race they gave, Be justly claim'd, as justly claim'd they are By every son that British mothers bear: O save your names from hate, disgrace, and scorn, HIST'RY'S bequest to ages yet unborn! "Ah! heard ye not your lion-genius roar, And shake with mighty tread his ev'ry shore? Deem not that roar in vain; for it hath found Redoubl'd echoes all the realm around, And generous hearts have rous'd them at the sound. There is a spirit mightier far than yours-- Magnanimous and mild, it much endures: But urg'd too far, a giant's strength awakes, And gyves and bonds at one fierce effort breaks. O hear yet more! There is a GOD, whose eye Pierces your counsels' darkest mystery; Whose blessing England owns for countless years, Whose vengeance now she deprecates with tears. To HIM your Queen appeals, and at HIS bar, Your names must mark the awful calendar; There must the witness CONSCIENCE naked plead, And guilty kings receive the culprit's meed. O think on this! e'en now that witness own, And save YOURSELVES, your COUNTRY, and your THRONE!"-- The vision ceas'd, and in a radiant cloud Withdrew--The breathless senate rev'rent bow'd. New vigour throbb'd in every patriot breast, And nerveless horror sicken'd all the rest. THE END. FOOTNOTES: