Raised on his arm, he lists the cadence close,
Yet thinks he hears it still: his heart is cheer'd;
He smiles on death; but, ah! a wish will rise-
"Would I were now beneath that echoing roof!
No lukewarm accents from my lips should flow;
My heart would sing; and many a Sabbath-day
My steps should thither turn; or, wandering far
In solitary paths, where wild flowers blow,
There would I bless His name who led me forth
From death's dark vale, to walk amid those sweets-
Who gives the bloom of health once more to glow
Upon this cheek, and lights this languid eye."

It is not only in the sacred fane

That homage should be paid to the Most High;
There is a temple, one not made with hands,
The vaulted firmament. Far in the woods,
Almost beyond the sound of city chime,
At intervals heard through the breezeless air;
When not the limberest leaf is seen to move,
Save where the linnet lights upon the spray;
Where not a floweret bends its little stalk,
Save when the bee alights upon the bloom-
There, rapt in gratitude, in joy, and love,
The man of God will pass the Sabbath-noon;
Silence his praise: his disembodied thoughts,
Loosed from the load of words, will high ascend
Beyond the empyreal.

Nor yet less pleasing at the heavenly throne,
The Sabbath service of the shepherd boy!
In some lone glen, where every sound is lull'd
To slumber, save the tinkling of the rill,
Or bleat of lamb, or hovering falcon's cry,
Stretch'd on the sward, he reads of Jesse's son ;
Or sheds a tear o'er him to Egypt sold,
And wonders why he weeps: the volume closed,
With thyme-sprig laid between the leaves, he sings
The sacred lays, his weekly lesson, conn'd
With meikle care beneath the lowly roof,
Where humble lore is learnt, where humble worth
Pines unrewarded by a thankless state.
Thus reading, hymning, all alone, unseen,
The shepherd-boy the Sabbath holy keeps,
Till on the heights he marks the straggling bands
Returning homeward from the house of prayer.
In peace they home resort. Oh blissful days!
When all men worship God as conscience wills.
Far other times our fathers' grandsires knew,
A virtuous race, to godliness devote.

What though the sceptic's scorn hath dared to soil
The record of their fame! What though the men
Of worldly minds have dared to stigmatise
The sister-cause, Religion and the Law,
With Superstition's name !-yet, yet their deeds,
Their constancy in torture and in death-
These on tradition's tongue still live, these shall
On history's honest page be pictured bright
To latest times. Perhaps some bard, whose muse
Disdains the servile strain of fashion's quire,
May celebrate their unambitious names.
With them each day was holy, every hour
They stood prepared to die, a people doom'd
To death-old men, and youths, and simple maids.
With them each day was holy; but that morn
On which the angel said, "See where the Lord
Was laid," joyous arose to die that day
Was bliss. Long ere the dawn, by devious ways,
O'er hills, through woods, o'er dreary wastes, they
sought

The upland moors, where rivers, there but brooks,
Dispart to different seas. Fast by such brooks
A little glen is sometimes scoop'd, a plat

With greensward gay, and flowers that strangers seem
Amid the heathery wild, that all around
Fatigues the eye: in solitudes like these
Thy persecuted children, Scotia, foil'd
A tyrant's and a bigot's bloody laws;
There leaning on his spear (one of th' array
T1at in the times of old had scath'd the rose

On England's banner, and had powerless struck
Th' infatuate monarch and his wavering host,
Yet ranged itself to aid his son dethron'd),
The lyart veteran heard the word of God'
By Cameron thunder'd, or by Renwick pour'd
In gentle stream: then rose the song, the loud
Acclaim of praise; the wheeling plover ceas'd
Her plaint; the solitary place was glad,
And on the distant cairns, the watcher's ear*
Caught doubtfully at times the breeze-borne note.
But years more gloomy follow'd, and no more
Th' assembled people dared, in face of day,
To worship God, or even at the dead

Of night, save when the wintry storm raved fierce,
And thunder-peals compell'd the men of blood
To couch within their dens; then dauntlessly
The scatter'd few would meet, in some deep dell
By rocks o'er-canopied, to hear the voice,
Their faithful pastor's voice: he by the gleam
Of sheeted lightning oped the sacred book,
And words of comfort spake: over their souls
His accents soothing came-as to her young
The heathfowl's plumes, when at the close of eve
She gathers in mournful her brood dispersed
By murderous sport, and o'er the remnant spreads
Fondly her wings, close nestling 'neath her breast
They cherish'd cower amid the purple blooms.

But wood and wild, the mountain and the dale,
The house of prayer itself, no place inspires
Emotions more accordant with the day,
Than does the field of graves, the land of rest.
Oft at the close of evening-prayer, the toll,
The funeral-toll, announces solemnly
The service of the tomb; the homeward crowds
Divide on either hand: the pomp draws near;
The choir to meet the dead go forth, and sing,
"I am the resurrection and the life."

Ah me! these youthful bearers robed in white,
They tell a mournful tale; some blooming friend
Is gone, dead in her prime of years-'twas she,
The poor man's friend, who when she could not give,
With angel-tongue pleaded to those who could,
With angel-tongue and mild beseeching eye,
That ne'er besought in vain, save when she pray'd
For longer life, with heart resign'd to die-
Rejoiced to die, for happy visions blest
Her voyage's last days,† and hovering round,
Alighted on her soul, giving presage
That heaven was nigh. Oh what a burst
Of rapture from her lips! what tears of joy
Her heavenward eyes suffused! Those eyes are closed;
Yet all her loveliness is not yet flown:
She smiled in death, and still her cold pale face
Retains that smile; as when a waveless lake,
In which the wintry stars all bright appear,
Is sheeted by a nightly frost with ice,
Still it reflects the face of heaven unchanged,
Unruffled by the breeze or sweeping blast.
Again that knell! The slow procession stops:
The pall withdrawn, Death's altar, thick-emboss'd
With melancholy ornaments (the name,
The record of her blossoming age) appears
Unveil'd, and on it dust to dust is thrown-
The final rite. Oh! hark that sullen sound!
Upon the lower'd bier the shovell'd clay
Falls fast, and fills the void.
But who is he
That stands aloof, with haggard wistful eye,
As if he coveted the closing grave?

And he does covet it-his wish is death:

* Sentinels were placed on the surrounding hills, to give warn ing of the approach of the military.

Towards the end of Columbus's voyage to the new world, when he was already near, but not in sight of land, the drooping hopes of his mariners (for his own confidence seems to have remained unmoved) were revived by the appearance of birds at first hovering round the ship, and then lighting on the rigging.

NOTE XIX.

The bells whose knoll a holy calmness pour'd.-P. 9, 1. 119. During the late sanguinary civil war in France, the animals who assumed the honourable title of republican when it was a la mode, and who now, on a similar principle, would hold Bonaparte's golden basin while he washed his hands of their brother's or their father's blood, used to transmit to the committee of public safety long gasconading accounts of their prowess in storming belfries, and melting the bell-metal. These dispatches were meant as certificates of their civism, their atheism, and their

courage.

NOTE XX.

Down like an avalanche.-P. 10, 1. 32.

As we

"After having descended, about three hours from the time of our quitting Meysingen, we refreshed ourselves and our horses in a delightful vale, strewed with hamlets; a sloping hill, adorned with variegated verdure and wood, on one side; on the other, the Rosenlavi and Schartzwald glaciers stretching between impending rocks; and before us the highest point of the Wetterhorn lifting its pyramidical top, capped with eternal snow. were taking our repast, we were suddenly startled by a noise like the sound of thunder, occasioned by a large body of snow falling from the top of the mountain, which in its precipitate descent had the appearance of a torrent of water reduced almost into spray. These avalanches, as they are called, are sometimes attended with the most fatal consequences; for when they consist of enormous masses, they destroy every thing in their course, and not unfrequently overwhelm even a whole village."-CoxE. NOTE XXI.

The plaintive strain that links, &c.-P. 10, 1. 50. "After dinner, some musicians of the country performed the Ranz des Vaches, that famous air which was forbid to be played among the Swiss troops in the French armies, as it created in the soldiers such a longing recollection of their native country, that it often produced in them a settled melancholy, and occasioned frequent desertion. The French call this sort of patriotic regret maladie du pays. There is nothing peculiarly striking in the tune; but as it is composed of the most simple notes, the powerful effect of its melody upon the Swiss soldiers in a foreign land is the less remarkable. Nothing, indeed, renews so lively a remembrance of former scenes, as a piece of favourite music which we were accustomed to hear among our earliest and dearest connexions." -COXE.

NOTE XXII.

Till beckon'd by some kindly hand to sit.-P. 10, 1. 108.

It is most melancholy to see old respectable persons standing in the passages of a church. In former times, the area of churches was common to all. The appropriation was certainly an encroachment. To bring matters back to their primitive state would now be impracticable. But surely a very large portion of the house of prayer ought to be allotted to the Lord's poor. Or why should not free churches be established in all the considerable towns? There are several in England. To the hardship of exclusion from divine service, or of precarious and mendicant admission, may be traced the dissipated and idle habits of many originally well-disposed persons.

NOTE XXIII.

Her hands could earn her bread and freely give.-P. 10, L. 110. The character here described is well pourtrayed in the following passage of Newton's Letters:-"We have lost another of the people here; a person of much experience, eminent grace, wisdom, and usefulness. She walked with God forty years. She was one of the Lord's poor; but her poverty was decent, sanctified, and honourable. She lived respected, and her death is considered as a public loss. It is a great loss to me: I shall miss her advice and example, by which I have been often edified and animated. Almost the last words she uttered were, The Lord is my portion, saith my soul.'"

I have known many instances of such persons. The character is indeed most highly respectable; but it does not obtain that respect and support which it so well merits. In truth, wealth is so devotedly worshipped, that virtuous poverty must of necessity be neglected, if not despised. Every man is aspiring to the imaginary dignity of the person who happens to be a little richer than

NOTE XXIV.

There courage that expects no tongue to praise.-P. 10, 1. 126. To private soldiers and sailors the voice of praise very seldom reaches, yet is their courage not less conspicuous than that which their superiors in rank display. Our military establishment, both at sea and on shore, is indeed penurious in reward, while it is liberal in punishment. By extending the one, and restricting the other, the regular army would be more expeditiously recruited than by increase of bounties. Let the experiment of less severe punishments be tried. The immediate consequence would be (to speak in mercantile phrase) a fall in the price of the article. But there is still another and a more effectual way of recruiting the army. Follow the advice of that man, who, through good report and through bad report, has stood the steadfast friend of justice and of freedom-to whose intuitive ken the most complicated subjects are simple, the most opaque transparent. His advice (but, alas! his prescient advice is seldom regarded until the event verifies the prediction) was to restrict the term of service to a moderate period, to five, six, or seven years. If a man engaging himself for half a year as a common servant were asked for what higher rate of wages he would bind himself during life, his answer would probably be, that no reward would tempt him to bind himself for life. Or, if he were to be so allured, would he not ask an enormous hire? To indent one's person for life, is a tremendous engagement. But a limitation of the term of service would be highly expedient in another view. Reckoning the regular troops of Britain at 200,000, if each man were to be discharged at the end of seven years from the time of his enlistment, is it not obvious, that we should have a yearly addition of about 27,000 thorough-bred soldiers, ready to fall into the ranks of the strictly defensive department of our national armament? Say that the addition were to be only 20,000, what an accession of real strength, of discipline, of experience, of confidence, would be the result! In five years there would be nearly 100,000 veterans (for a soldier who has served seven years I would call a veteran) added to our home-force. No one can form a probable guess at the duration of the present war; nor is it likely that many of the present generation will see the day when they may with safety turn their swords into plough-shares, and their spears into pruning-hooks. We must continue in the attitude of an armed nation. We must labour with the one hand, and wield our weapons with the other.

NOTE XXV.

Or cheering, with inquiries from the heart.-P. 11, 1. 7. In some hospitals, the patients are supposed to be treated with all due justice, if the bolus and the knife be liberally adminis tered. Nothing is done to amuse or to console.

NOTE XXVI.

Blest be the female votaries.-P. 11, 1. 65.

The nuns called Beguines devote the whole of their time to attendance on the sick, whether in hospitals or in private houses. They are habited in black, and when going abroad they wear deep black veils.

NOTE XXVII.

Call forth the dead, and re-unite the dust

(Transform'd and purified) to angel souls.-P. 11, 1. 85. Every one has experienced how much contrast enhances pleasure, and aggravates pain. Perhaps in created beings perfect happiness is impossible, without the contrast of recollected misery. This consideration affords an answer to those persons who censure the resurrection of the body as a provision unnecessary and unwise, who say that the joys of a blessed spirit cannot be increased by a union with the material body, however excellent in form, structure, and powers. I would ask, what other provision could possibly furnish the pleasure derived from contrast, so vividly, so constantly? A celestial form the habitation of that being who formerly dwelt in a body frail, diseased, mortal! To the man who had been blind in his earthly abode, what a change!-his sightless orbs transformed into eyes of telescopic ken! To the palsied !-that body which could not move itself, endowed perhaps with electric velocity!-that once feeble, faltering voice, attuned to the harmonies of the heavenly choirs, "who sing the song of Moses the servant of God, and the song of the Lamb, saying, Great and marvellous are thy works, Lord God Almighty; just and true are thy ways, thou King of saints: Alleluia, for the Lord God Omnipotent reigneth!"

B

How sweet the tinkle of the palm-bower'd brook!
The sunbeam slanting through the cedar grove
How lovely, and how mild! but lovelier still
The welcome in the eye of ancient friends,
Scarce known at first! and dear the fig-tree shade,
'Neath which on Sabbath eve his father told *
Of Israel from the house of bondage freed,
Led through the desert to the promised land ;-
With eager arms the aged stem he clasps,
And with his tears the furrow'd bark bedews;
And still, at midnight hour, he thinks he hears
The blissful sound that brake the bondman's chains,
The glorious peal of freedom and of joy!

Did ever law of man a power like this
Display?-power marvellous as merciful,
Which, though in other ordinances still
Most plainly seen, is yet but little mark'd
For what it truly is—a miracle!
Stupendous, ever new, perform'd at once
In every region, yea, on every sea
Which Europe's navies plough; yes, in all lands
From pole to pole, or civilised or rude,
People there are, to whom the Sabbath morn
Dawns shedding dews into their drooping hearts:
Yes; far beyond the high-heaved western wave,
Amid Columbia's wildernesses vast,

The words which God in thunder from the mount
Of Sinai spake, are heard, and are obey'd.
Thy children, Scotia, in the desert land,
Driven from their homes by fell Monopoly,
Keep holy to the Lord the seventh day.
Assembled under loftiest canopy

Of trees primeval (soon to be laid low),

They sing, "By Babel's streams we sat and wept."

What strong mysterious links enchain the heart
To regions where the morn of life was spent!
In foreign lands, though happier be the clime,
Though round our board smile all the friends we love,
The face of nature wears a stranger's look.
Yea, though the valley which we loved be swept
Of its inhabitants, none left behind,

Not even the poor blind man who sought his bread
From door to door, still, still there is a want;
Yes, even he, round whom a night that knows
No dawn is ever spread, whose native vale
Presented to his closed eyes a blank,
Deplores its distance now. There well he knew
Each object, though unseen; there could he wend
His way guideless through wilds and mazy woods;
Each aged tree, spared when the forest fell,
Was his familiar friend, from the smooth birch,
With rind of silken touch, to the rough elm:
The three grey stones, that mark'd where heroes lay,
Mourn'd by the harp, mourn'd by the melting voice
Of Cona, oft his resting-place had been:

Oft had they told him that his home was near:

The tinkle of the rill, the murmuring

So gentle of the brook, the torrent's rush,
The cataract's din, the ocean's distant roar,
The echo's answer to his foot or voice,
All spoke a language which he understood,
All warn'd him of his way. But most he feels
Upon the hallow'd morn, the saddening change;
No more he hears the gladsome village bell
Ring the blest summons to the house of God;
And, for the voice of psalms, loud, solemn, grand,
That cheer'd his darkling path, as with slow step
And feeble, he toil'd up the spire-topt hill,
A few faint notes ascend among the trees.

*"And these words which I command thee this day shall be in thine heart. And thou shalt teach them diligently unto thy children, and shalt talk of them when thou sittest in thine house, and when thou walkest by the way, and when thou liest down, and when thou risest up. Thou shalt say unto thy son, we were Pharaoh's bondmen in Egypt; and the Lord brought us out of Egypt with a mighty hand."-Deut. vi. 6, 7, 21.

What though the cluster'd vine there hardly tempts The traveller's hand; though birds of dazzling plume Perch on the loaded boughs; "Give me thy woods, (Exclaims the banish'd man) "thy barren woods, Poor Scotland; sweeter there the reddening haw, The sloe, or rowan's* bitter bunch, than here The purple grape; more dear the redbreast's note, That mourns the fading year in Scotia's vales, Than Philomel's, where spring is ever new; More dear to me the redbreast's sober suit, So like a wither'd leaflet, than the glare Of gaudy wings that make the iris dim."

Nor is regret exclusive to the old :
The boy, whose birth was midway o'er the main,
A ship his cradle, by the billows rock'd-
"The nursling of the storm"-although he claims
No native land, yet does he wistful hear
Of some far distant country still call'd home,
Where lambs of whitest fleece sport on the hills,
Where gold-speck'd fishes wanton in the streams;
Where little birds, when snow-flakes dim the air,
Light on the floor, and peck the table-crumbs,
And with their singing cheer the winter day.

But what the loss of country to the woes
Of banishment and solitude combined!
Oh! my heart bleeds to think there now may live
One hapless man, the remnant of a wreck,
Cast on some desert island of that main
Immense, which stretches from the Cochin shore
To Acapulco. Motionless he sits,

As is the rock his seat, gazing whole days
With wandering eye o'er all the watery waste;
Now striving to believe the albatross

A sail appearing on th' horizon's verge;
Now vowing ne'er to cherish other hope
Than hope of death. Thus pass his weary hours,
Till welcome evening warn him that 'tis time,
Upon the shell-notch'd calendar to mark
Another day, another dreary day-
Changeless-for in these regions of the sun,
The wholesome law that dooms mankind to toil,
Bestowing grateful interchange of rest
And labour, is annull'd; for there the trees,
Adorn'd at once with bud, and flower, and fruit,
Drop, as the breezes blow, a shower of bread
And blossoms on the ground. But yet by him,
The hermit of the deep not unobserv'd
The Sabbath passes-'tis his great delight.
Each seventh eve he marks the farewell ray,
And loves, and sighs to think-that setting sun
Is now empurpling Scotland's mountain tops,
Or, higher risen, slants athwart her vales,
Tinting with yellow light the quivering throat
Of day-spring lark, while woodland birds below
Chaunt in the dewy shade. Thus, all night long
He watches, while the rising moon describes
The progress of the day in happier lands.
And now he almost fancies that he hears
The chiming from his native village church;
And now he sings, and fondly hopes the strain
May be the same that sweet ascends at home
In congregation full-where, not without a tear,
They are remember'd who in ships behold
The wonders of the deep:† he sees the hand,
The widow'd hand, that veils the eye suffused :
He sees his orphan boy look up, and strive
The widow'd heart to soothe. His spirit leans
On God. Nor does he leave his weekly vigil,
Though tempests ride o'er welkin-lashing waves
On wings of cloudless wind; though lightnings burst

*Mountain-ash.

"They that go down to the sea in ships, that do business in the great deep: these sce the works of the Lord, and his wonders in the deep."-PSALM CVii.

In the tropical regions, the sky during storms is often with out a cloud.

So vivid, that the stars are hid and seen
In awful alternation. Calm he views
The far exploding firmament, and dares
To hope one bolt in mercy is reserved
For his release; and yet he is resign'd
To live, because full well he is assured
Thy hand does lead him, thy right hand upholds.*

And thy right hand does lead him. Lo! at last,
One sacred eve, he hears, faint from the deep,
Music remote, swelling at intervals,

As if th' embodied spirit of sweet sounds
Came slowly floating on the shoreward wave:
The cadence well he knows-a hymn of old,
Where sweetly is rehearsed the lowly state
Of Jesus, when his birth was first announced
In midnight music, by an angel choir,

To Bethlehem's shepherds,t as they watch'd their flocks.
Breathless, the man forlorn listens, and thinks
It is a dream. Fuller the voices swell.
He looks, and starts to see, moving along,

The semblance of a fiery wave, ‡ in crescent form,
Approaching to the land; straightway he sees
A towering whiteness; 'tis the heaven-fill'd sails
That waft the mission'd men, who have renounced
Their homes, their country, nay, almost the world,
Bearing glad tidings to the farthest isles
Of ocean, that the dead shall rise again.
Forward the gleam-girt castle coastwise glides.
It seems as it would pass away. To cry
The wretched man in vain attempts, in vain,
Powerless his voice as in a fearful dream:
Not so his hand; he strikes the flint-a blaze
Mounts from the ready heap of withered leaves:
The music ceases; accents harsh succeed,
Harsh, but most grateful; downward drop the sails.
Engulf'd the anchor sinks; the boat is launch'd;
But cautious lies aloof till morning dawn:
Oh then the transport of the man, unused
To other human voice beside his own,

His native tongue to hear! He breathes at home,
Though earth's diameter is interposed.
Of perils of the sea he has no dread,
Full well assured the mission'd bark is safe,
Held in the hollow of the Almighty's hand.
(And signal thy deliverances have been

Of those thy messengers of peace and joy.)
From storms that loudly threaten to unfix
Islands rock-rooted in the ocean's bed,
Thou dost deliver them—and from the calm,
More dreadful than the storm, when motionless
Upon the purple deep the vessel lies

For days, for nights, illumed by phosphor lamps;
When sea-birds seem in nests of flame to float;
When backward starts the boldest mariner
To see, while o'er the side he leans, his face
As if deep-tinged with blood.

"If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, even there shall thy hand lead me, and thy right hand shall hold me."-PSALM CXxxix.

“And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. And lo! the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord angel said unto them, Fear not; for behold! I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day, in the city of David, a Saviour who is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you-ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling-clothes, lying in a manger. And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God, and saying, Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men."-LUKE, ii. 8-14.

shone round about them, and they were sore afraid. And the

Let worldly men

The cause and combatants contemptuous scorn,
And call fanatics them, who hazard health
And life, in testifying of the truth,
Who joy and glory in the cross of Christ!
What were the Galilean fishermen

But messengers commission'd to announce
The resurrection and the life to come?

They, too, though clothed with power of mighty works
Miraculous, were oft received with scorn;

Oft did their words fall powerless, though enforced
By deeds that mark'd Omnipotence their friend.
But when their efforts fail'd, unweariedly
They onward went, rejoicing in their course.
Like helianthus,* borne on downy wings
To distant realms, they frequent fell on soils
Barren and thankless; yet oft-times they saw
Their labours crown'd with fruit an hundred fold—
Saw the new converts testify their faith

By works of love-the slave set free, the sick
Attended, prisoners visited, the poor
Received as brothers at the rich man's board.
Alas! how different now the deeds of men
Nursed in the faith of Christ!-the free made slaves!
Stolen from their country, borne across the deep,
Enchain'd, endungeon'd, forced by stripes to live,
Doom'd to behold their wives, their little ones,
Tremble beneath the white man's fiend-like frown!
Yet even to scenes like this, the Sabbath brings
Alleviation of th' enormous woe ;-

The oft-reiterated stroke is still;

The clotted scourge hangs hardening in the shrouds.
But see the demon man, whose trade is blood,
With dauntless front convene his ruffian crew,
To hear the sacred service read. Accursed
The wretch's bile-tinged lips profane the word
Of God: accursed, he ventures to pronounce
The decalogue, nor falters at that law
Wherein 'tis written, "Thou shalt do no murder:"
Perhaps while yet the words are on his lips,
He hears a dying mother's parting groan;
He hears her orphan'd child, with lisping plaint,
Attempt to rouse her from the sleep of death.

Oh England! England! wash thy purpled hands
Of this foul sin, and never dip them more
In guilt so damnable; then lift them up
In supplication to that God whose name
Is Mercy; then thou may'st, without the risk
Of drawing vengeance from the surcharged clouds,
Implore protection to thy menaced shores;
Then God will blast the tyrant's arm that grasps
The thunderbolt of ruin o'er thy head;
Then will he turn the wolvish race to prey
Upon each other; then will he arrest
The lava torrent, causing it regorge
Back to its source with fiery desolation.

Of all the murderous trades by mortals plied,
'Tis war alone that never violates
The hallow'd day by simulate respect-
From sacred pinnacles are hung the flags +
By hypocritic rest; no, no, the work proceeds.
That give the sign to slip the leash for slaughter.
The bells whose knoll a holy calmness pour'd
Into the good man's breast, whose sound consoled
The sick, the poor, the old-perversion dire!—
Pealing with sulph'rous tongue, speak death-fraught
words:

From morn to eve destruction revels phrensied,
Till at the hour when peaceful vesper-chimes
Were wont to soothe the ear, the trumpet sounds
Pursuit and flight altern; and for the song

*Sun-flower. "The seeds of many plants of this kind are furnished with a plume, by which admirable mechanism they are disseminated far from their parent stem."-DARWIN. † Church steeples are frequently used as signal-posts.