PART I FROM THE INTRODUCTION OF CHRISTIANITY INTO BRITAIN, TO THE CONSUMMATION OF THE PAPAL DOMINION

A verse may catch a wandering Soul, that flies Profounder Tracts, and by a blest surprise Convert delight into a Sacrifice.[4]

I, who accompanied with faithful pace[5] Cerulean Duddon from its[6] cloud-fed spring,[7] And loved with spirit ruled by his to sing Of mountain-quiet and boon nature's grace;[8] I, who essayed the nobler Stream to trace 5 Of Liberty,[9] and smote the plausive string Till the checked torrent, proudly triumphing, Won for herself a lasting resting-place;[10] Now seek upon the heights of Time the source Of a Holy River,[11]on whose banks are found 10 Sweet pastoral flowers, and laurels that have crowned Full oft the unworthy brow of lawless force; And,[12] for delight of him who tracks its course,[13] Immortal amaranth and palms abound.

If there be prophets on whose spirits rest Past things, revealed like future, they can tell What Powers, presiding o'er the sacred well Of Christian Faith, this savage Island blessed With its first bounty. Wandering through the west, Did holy Paul[14] a while in Britain dwell, 6 And call the Fountain forth by miracle, And with dread signs the nascent Stream invest? Or He, whose bonds dropped off, whose prison doors Flew open, by an Angel's voice unbarred?[15] 10 Or some of humbler name, to these wild shores Storm-driven; who, having seen the cup of woe Pass from their Master, sojourned here to guard The precious Current they had taught to flow?

Screams round the Arch-druid's brow the seamew[16]—white As Menai's foam; and toward the mystic ring Where Augurs stand, the Future questioning, Slowly the cormorant aims her heavy flight, Portending ruin to each baleful rite, 5 That, in the lapse, of ages,[17] hath crept o'er Diluvian truths, and patriarchal lore. Haughty the Bard: can these meek doctrines blight His transports? wither his heroic strains? But all shall be fulfilled;—the Julian spear 10 A way first opened;[18] and, with Roman chains, The tidings come of Jesus crucified; They come—they spread—the weak, the suffering, hear; Receive the faith, and in the hope abide.

Mercy and Love have met thee on thy road, Thou wretched Outcast, from the gift of fire And food cut off by sacerdotal ire, From every sympathy that Man bestowed! Yet shall it claim our reverence, that to God, 5 Ancient of days! that to the eternal Sire, These jealous Ministers of law aspire, As to the one sole fount whence wisdom flowed, Justice, and order. Tremblingly escaped, As if with prescience of the coming storm, 10 That intimation when the stars were shaped; And still, 'mid yon thick woods, the primal truth Glimmers through many a superstitious form[19] That fills the Soul with unavailing ruth.

Darkness surrounds us: seeking, we are lost On Snowdon's wilds, amid Brigantian coves,[20] Or where the solitary shepherd roves Along the plain of Sarum, by the ghost Of Time and shadows of Tradition, crost;[21] 5 And where the boatman of the Western Isles Slackens his course—to mark those holy piles Which yet survive on bleak Iona's coast.[22] Nor these, nor monuments of eldest name,[23] Nor Taliesin's unforgotten lays,[24] 10 Nor characters of Greek or Roman fame, To an unquestionable Source have led; Enough—if eyes, that sought the fountain-head In vain, upon the growing Rill may gaze.

Lament! for Diocletian's fiery sword Works busy as the lightning; but instinct With malice ne'er to deadliest weapon linked, Which God's ethereal store-houses afford: Against the Followers of the incarnate Lord 5 It rages;—some are smitten in the field— Some pierced to the heart through the ineffectual shield[25] Of sacred home;—with pomp are others gored And dreadful respite. Thus was Alban tried,[26] England's first Martyr, whom no threats could shake; Self-offered victim, for his friend he died, 11 And for the faith; nor shall his name forsake That Hill, whose flowery platform seems to rise By Nature decked for holiest sacrifice.[27]

As, when a storm hath ceased, the birds regain Their cheerfulness, and busily retrim Their nests, or chant a gratulating hymn To the blue ether and bespangled plain; Even so, in many a re-constructed fane, 5 Have the survivors of this Storm renewed Their holy rites with vocal gratitude: And solemn ceremonials they ordain To celebrate their great deliverance; Most feelingly instructed 'mid their fear— 10 That persecution, blind with rage extreme, May not the less, through Heaven's mild countenance, Even in her own despite, both feed and cheer; For all things are less dreadful than they seem.

Watch, and be firm! for, soul-subduing vice, Heart-killing luxury, on your steps await. Fair houses, baths, and banquets delicate, And temples flashing, bright as polar ice, Their radiance through the woods—may yet suffice 5 To sap your hardy virtue, and abate Your love of Him upon whose forehead sate The crown of thorns; whose life-blood flowed, the price Of your redemption. Shun the insidious arts That Rome provides, less dreading from her frown 10 Than from her wily praise, her peaceful gown, Language, and letters;—these, though fondly viewed As humanising graces, are but parts And instruments of deadliest servitude!

That heresies should strike (if truth be scanned Presumptuously) their roots both wide and deep, Is natural as dreams to feverish sleep. Lo! Discord at the altar dares to stand[28] Uplifting toward[29] high Heaven her fiery brand, 5 A cherished Priestess of the new-baptized! But chastisement shall follow peace despised. The Pictish cloud darkens the enervate land By Rome abandoned; vain are suppliant cries, And prayers that would undo her forced farewell; 10 For she returns not.—Awed by her own knell, She casts the Britons upon strange Allies, Soon to become more dreaded enemies Than heartless misery called them to repel.

Rise!—they have risen: of brave Aneurin ask[30] How they have scourged old foes, perfidious friends: The Spirit of Caractacus descends Upon the Patriots, animates their task;[31] Amazement runs before the towering casque 5 Of Arthur, bearing through the stormy field The Virgin sculptured on his Christian shield:— Stretched in the sunny light of victory bask The Host that followed Urien[32] as he strode O'er heaps of slain;—from Cambrian wood and moss 10 Druids descend, auxiliars of the Cross; Bards, nursed on blue Plinlimmon's still abode,[33] Rush on the fight, to harps preferring swords, And everlasting deeds to burning words!

Nor wants the cause the panic-striking aid Of hallelujahs[34] tost from hill to hill— For instant victory. But Heaven's high will Permits a second and a darker shade Of Pagan night. Afflicted and dismayed, 5 The Relics of the sword flee to the mountains: O wretched Land! whose tears have flowed like fountains; Whose arts and honours in the dust are laid By men yet scarcely conscious of a care For other monuments than those of Earth;[35] 10 Who, as the fields[36] and woods have given them birth, Will[37] build their savage fortunes only there; Content, if foss, and barrow, and the girth Of long-drawn rampart, witness what they were.[38]

The oppression of the tumult—wrath and scorn— The tribulation—and the gleaming blades— Such is the impetuous spirit that pervades The song of Taliesin;[40]—Ours shall mourn The unarmed Host who by their prayers would turn 5 The sword from Bangor's walls, and guard the store Of Aboriginal and Roman lore, And Christian monuments, that now must burn To senseless ashes. Mark! how all things swerve From their known course, or vanish like a dream;[41] 10 Another language spreads from coast to coast; Only perchance some melancholy Stream[42] And some indignant Hills old names preserve,[43] When laws, and creeds, and people all are lost!

A bright-haired company of youthful slaves, Beautiful strangers, stand within the pale Of a sad market, ranged for public sale, Where Tiber's stream the immortal[44] City laves: Angli by name; and not an Angel waves 5 His wing who could seem lovelier to man's eye[45] Than they appear to holy Gregory; Who, having learnt that name, salvation craves For Them, and for their Land. The earnest Sire, His questions urging, feels, in slender ties 10 Of chiming sound, commanding sympathies; De-irians—he would save them from God's Ire; Subjects of Saxon Ælla—they shall sing Glad Halle-lujahs to the eternal King![46]

For ever hallowed be this morning fair, Blest be the unconscious shore on which ye tread, And blest the silver Cross, which ye, instead Of martial banner, in procession bear; The Cross preceding Him who floats in air, 5 The pictured Saviour!—By Augustin led, They come—and onward travel without dread, Chanting in barbarous ears a tuneful prayer— Sung for themselves, and those whom they would free! Rich conquest waits them:—the tempestuous sea 10 Of Ignorance, that ran so rough and high And heeded not the voice of clashing swords, These good men humble by a few bare words, And calm with fear of God's divinity.[47]

But, to remote Northumbria's royal Hall, Where thoughtful Edwin, tutored in the school Of sorrow, still maintains a heathen rule, Who comes with functions apostolical? Mark him,[48] of shoulders curved, and stature tall, 5 Black hair, and vivid eye, and meagre cheek, His prominent feature like an eagle's beak; A Man whose aspect doth at once appal And strike with reverence. The Monarch leans Toward the pure truths[49] this Delegate propounds, 10 Repeatedly his own deep mind he sounds With careful hesitation,—then convenes A synod of his Councillors:—give ear, And what a pensive Sage doth utter, hear![50]

"Man's life is like a Sparrow,[51] mighty King! "That—while at banquet with your Chiefs you sit "Housed near a blazing fire—is seen to flit "Safe from the wintry tempest. Fluttering,[52] "Here did it enter; there, on hasty wing, 5 "Flies out, and passes on from cold to cold; "But whence it came we know not, nor behold "Whither it goes. Even such, that transient Thing, "The human Soul; not utterly unknown "While in the Body lodged, her warm abode; 10 "But from what world She came, what woe or weal "On her departure waits, no tongue hath shown; "This mystery if the Stranger can reveal, "His be a welcome cordially bestowed!"

Prompt transformation works the novel Lore; The Council closed, the Priest in full career Rides forth, an armèd man, and hurls a spear To desecrate the Fane which heretofore He served in folly. Woden falls, and Thor 5 Is overturned: the mace, in battle heaved (So might they dream) till victory was achieved, Drops, and the God himself is seen no more. Temple and Altar sink, to hide their shame Amid oblivious weeds, "O come to me, 10 Ye heavy laden!" such the inviting voice Heard near fresh streams;[54] and thousands, who rejoice In the new Rite—the pledge of sanctity, Shall, by regenerate life, the promise claim.

Nor scorn the aid which Fancy oft doth lend The Soul's eternal interests to promote: Death, darkness, danger, are our natural lot; And evil Spirits may our walk attend For aught the wisest know or comprehend; 5 Then be good Spirits free[55] to breathe a note Of elevation; let their odours float Around these Converts; and their glories blend, The midnight stars outshining,[56] or the blaze Of the noon-day. Nor doubt that golden cords 10 Of good works, mingling with the visions, raise The Soul to purer worlds: and who the line Shall draw, the limits of the power define, That even imperfect faith to man affords?

How beautiful your presence, how benign, Servants of God! who not a thought will share With the vain world; who, outwardly as bare As winter trees, yield no fallacious sign That the firm soul is clothed with fruit divine! 5 Such Priest, when service worthy of his care Has called him forth to breathe the common air, Might seem a saintly Image from its shrine Descended:—happy are the eyes that meet The Apparition; evil thoughts are stayed 10 At his approach, and low-bowed necks entreat A benediction from his voice or hand; Whence grace, through which the heart can understand, And vows, that bind the will, in silence made.

Ah, when the Body,[58] round which in love we clung, Is chilled by death, does mutual service fail? Is tender pity then of no avail? Are intercessions of the fervent tongue A waste of hope?—From this sad source have sprung Rites that console the Spirit, under grief 6 Which ill can brook more rational relief: Hence, prayers are shaped amiss, and dirges sung For Souls[59] whose doom is fixed! The way is smooth For Power that travels with the human heart: 10 Confession ministers the pang to soothe In him who at the ghost of guilt doth start. Ye holy Men, so earnest in your care, Of your own mighty instruments beware!

Lance, shield, and sword relinquished—at his side A bead-roll, in his hand a claspèd book, Or staff more harmless than a shepherd's crook, The war-worn Chieftain quits the world—to hide His thin autumnal locks where Monks abide 5 In cloistered privacy. But not to dwell In soft repose he comes. Within his cell, Round the decaying trunk of human pride, At morn, and eve, and midnight's silent hour, Do penitential cogitations cling; 10 Like ivy, round some ancient elm, they twine In grisly folds and strictures serpentine;[61] Yet, while they strangle, a fair growth they bring,[62] For recompense—their own perennial bower.

Methinks that to some vacant hermitage My feet would rather turn—to some dry nook Scooped out of living rock, and near a brook Hurled down a mountain-cove from stage to stage, Yet tempering, for my sight, its bustling rage 5 In the soft heaven of a translucent pool; Thence creeping under sylvan[63] arches cool, Fit haunt of shapes whose glorious equipage Would elevate[64] my dreams.[65] A beechen bowl, A maple dish, my furniture should be; 10 Crisp, yellow leaves my bed; the hooting owl My night-watch: nor should e'er the crested fowl From thorp or vill his matins sound for me, Tired of the world and all its industry.

But what if One, through grove or flowery meed, Indulging thus at will the creeping feet Of a voluptuous indolence, should meet Thy hovering Shade, O[66] venerable Bede! The saint, the scholar, from a circle freed 5 Of toil stupendous, in a hallowed seat Of learning, where thou heard'st[67] the billows beat On a wild coast, rough monitors to feed Perpetual industry.[68] Sublime Recluse! The recreant soul, that dares to shun the debt 10 Imposed on human kind, must first forget Thy diligence, thy unrelaxing use Of a long life; and, in the hour of death, The last dear service of thy passing breath![69]

By such examples moved to unbought pains, The people work like congregated bees;[70] Eager to build the quiet Fortresses Where Piety, as they believe, obtains From Heaven a general blessing; timely rains 5 Or needful sunshine; prosperous enterprise, Justice and peace:—bold faith! yet also rise The sacred Structures for less doubtful gains.[71] The Sensual think with reverence of the palms Which the chaste Votaries seek, beyond the grave; If penance be redeemable, thence alms 11 Flow to the poor, and freedom to the slave; And if full oft the Sanctuary save Lives black with guilt, ferocity it calms.

Not sedentary all: there are who roam To scatter seeds of life on barbarous shores; Or quit with zealous step their knee-worn floors To seek the general mart of Christendom; Whence they, like richly-laden merchants, come 5 To their belovèd cells:—or shall we say That, like the Red-cross Knight, they urge their way, To lead in memorable triumph home Truth, their immortal Una? Babylon, Learned and wise, hath perished utterly, 10 Nor leaves her Speech one word to aid the sigh[72] That would lament her;—Memphis, Tyre, are gone With all their Arts,—but classic lore glides on By these Religious saved for all posterity.

Behold a pupil of the monkish gown, The pious Alfred, King to Justice dear! Lord of the harp and liberating spear;[73] Mirror of Princes![74] Indigent Renown Might range the starry ether for a crown 5 Equal to his deserts, who, like the year, Pours forth his bounty, like the day doth cheer, And awes like night with mercy-tempered frown. Ease from this noble miser of his time No moment steals; pain narrows not his cares.[75] 10 Though small his kingdom as a spark or gem, Of Alfred boasts remote Jerusalem,[76] And Christian India, through her wide-spread clime, In sacred converse gifts with Alfred shares.[77][78]

When thy great soul was freed from mortal chains, Darling of England! many a bitter shower Fell on thy tomb; but emulative power Flowed in thy line through undegenerate veins.[79] The Race of Alfred covet[80] glorious pains[81] 5 When dangers threaten, dangers ever new! Black tempests bursting, blacker still in view! But manly sovereignty its hold retains; The root sincere, the branches bold to strive With the fierce tempest, while,[82] within the round 10 Of their protection, gentle virtues thrive; As oft, 'mid some green plot of open ground, Wide as the oak extends its dewy gloom, The fostered hyacinths spread their purple bloom.[83]

Urged by Ambition, who with subtlest skill Changes her means, the Enthusiast as a dupe Shall soar, and as a hypocrite can stoop, And turn the instruments of good to ill, Moulding the credulous people to his will. 5 Such Dunstan:—from its Benedictine coop Issues the master Mind,[84] at whose fell swoop The chaste affections tremble to fulfil Their purposes. Behold, pre-signified, The Might of spiritual sway! his thoughts, his dreams, Do in the supernatural world abide: 11 So vaunt a throng of Followers, filled with pride In what they see of virtues pushed to extremes,[85] And sorceries of talent misapplied.

Woe to the Crown that doth the Cowl obey![86] Dissension, checking[87] arms that would restrain The incessant Rovers of the northern main,[88] Helps to restore and spread a Pagan sway:[89] But Gospel-truth is potent to allay 5 Fierceness and rage; and soon the cruel Dane Feels, through the influence of her gentle reign, His native superstitions melt away. Thus, often, when thick gloom the east o'ershrouds, The full-orbed Moon, slow-climbing, doth appear 10 Silently to consume the heavy clouds; How no one can resolve; but every eye Around her sees, while air is hushed, a clear And widening circuit of ethereal sky.

A pleasant music floats along the Mere, From Monks in Ely chanting service high, While-as Canùte the King is rowing by: "My Oarsmen," quoth the mighty King, "draw near, "That we the sweet song of the Monks may hear!"[90] He listens (all past conquests and all schemes 6 Of future vanishing like empty dreams) Heart-touched, and haply not without a tear. The Royal Minstrel, ere the choir is still,[91] While his free Barge skims the smooth flood along, Gives to that rapture an accordant Rhyme.[92][93] 11 O suffering Earth! be thankful; sternest clime And rudest age are subject to the thrill Of heaven-descended Piety and Song.

The woman-hearted Confessor prepares[94] The evanescence of the Saxon line. Hark! 'tis the tolling Curfew!—the stars shine;[95] But of the lights that cherish household cares And festive gladness, burns not one that dares 5 To twinkle after that dull stroke of thine, Emblem and instrument, from Thames to Tyne, Of force that daunts, and cunning that ensnares! Yet as the terrors of the lordly bell, That quench, from hut to palace, lamps and fires,[96] 10 Touch not the tapers of the sacred quires; Even so a thraldom, studious to expel Old laws, and ancient customs to derange, To Creed or Ritual brings no fatal change.[97]

Coldly we spake. The Saxons, overpowered By wrong triumphant through its own excess, From fields laid waste, from house and home devoured By flames, look up to heaven and crave redress From God's eternal justice. Pitiless 5 Though men be, there are angels that can feel For wounds that death alone has power to heal, For penitent guilt, and innocent distress. And has a Champion risen in arms to try His Country's virtue, fought, and breathes no more; 10 Him in their hearts the people canonize; And far above the mine's most precious ore The least small pittance of bare mould they prize Scooped from the sacred earth where his dear relics lie.

"And shall," the Pontiff asks, "profaneness flow From Nazareth—source of Christian piety, From Bethlehem, from the Mounts of Agony And glorified Ascension? Warriors, go, With prayers and blessings we your path will sow; 5 Like Moses hold our hands erect, till ye Have chased far off by righteous victory These sons of Amalek, or laid them low!"— "God willeth it," the whole assembly cry; Shout which the enraptured multitude astounds![98] 10 The Council-roof and Clermont's towers reply;— "God willeth it," from hill to hill rebounds, And, in awe-stricken[99] Countries far and nigh, Through "Nature's hollow arch"[100] that voice resounds.[101][102]

The turbaned Race are poured in thickening swarms Along the west; though driven from Aquitaine, The Crescent glitters on the towers of Spain; And soft Italia feels renewed alarms; The scimitar, that yields not to the charms 5 Of ease, the narrow Bosphorus will disdain; Nor long (that crossed) would Grecian hills detain Their tents, and check the current of their arms. Then blame not those who, by the mightiest lever Known to the moral world, Imagination, 10 Upheave, so seems it, from her natural station All Christendom:—they sweep along (was never So huge a host!)[103]—to tear from the Unbeliever The precious Tomb, their haven of salvation.

Redoubted King, of courage leonine, I mark thee, Richard! urgent to equip Thy warlike person with the staff and scrip; I watch thee sailing o'er the midland brine; In conquered Cyprus see thy Bride decline 5 Her blushing cheek, love-vows[104] upon her lip, And see love-emblems streaming from thy ship, As thence she holds her way to Palestine.[105] My Song, a fearless homager, would attend Thy thundering battle-axe as it cleaves the press 10 Of war, but duty summons her away To tell—how, finding in the rash distress Of those Enthusiasts a subservient friend, To[106] giddier heights hath clomb the Papal sway.

Realms quake by turns: proud Arbitress of grace, The Church, by mandate shadowing forth the power She arrogates o'er heaven's eternal door, Closes the gates of every sacred place. Straight from the sun and tainted air's embrace 5 All sacred things are covered: cheerful morn Grows sad as night—no seemly garb is worn, Nor is a face allowed to meet a face With natural smiles[108] of greeting. Bells are dumb; Ditches are graves—funereal rites denied; 10 And in the church-yard he must take his bride Who dares be wedded! Fancies thickly come Into the pensive heart ill fortified, And comfortless despairs the soul benumb.

As with the Stream our voyage we pursue, The gross materials of this world present A marvellous study of wild accident;[109] Uncouth proximities of old and new; And bold transfigurations, more untrue 5 (As might be deemed) to disciplined intent Than aught the sky's fantastic element, When most fantastic, offers to the view. Saw we not Henry scourged at Becket's shrine?[110] Lo! John self-stripped of his insignia:—crown, 10 Sceptre and mantle, sword and ring, laid down At a proud Legate's feet![111] The spears that line Baronial halls, the opprobrious insult feel; And angry Ocean roars a vain appeal.