DISAPPOINTMENT.

CLXX.

ROME.

FAR sadder musing on the traveller falls
At sight of thee, O Rome!

Than when he views the rough sea-beaten walls
Of Greece, thought's early home;

For thou wast of the hateful Four, whose doom
Burdens the Prophet's scroll;

But Greece was clean, till in her history's gloom
Her name and sword a Macedonian stole.

And next a mingled throng besets the breast
Of bitter thoughts and sweet;

How shall I name thee, Light of the wide West,

Or heinous error-seat?

O Mother erst, close tracing Jesus' feet!

Do not thy titles glow

In those stern judgment-fires, which shall complete Earth's strife with Heaven, and ope the eternal

CLXXI.

THE CRUEL CHURCH.

O Mother Church of Rome! why has thy heart
Beat so untruly towards thy northern child?
Why give a gift, nor give it undefiled,
Drugging the blessing with a stepdame's art?
Why bare thy sword? beneath thy censure's smart
Long days we writhed, who would not be beguiled;
While thy keen breath, like blast of winter wild,
Froze, till it crumbled, each sublimer part
Of rite or work, devotion's flower and prime.
Thus have we lain, thy charge, a dreary time,
Christ's little ones, torn from faith's ancient home,
To dogs a prey. And now thou sendest foes,
Bred from thy womb, lost Church! to mock the throes
Of thy free child, thou cruel-natured Rome!

U

CLXXII.

THE GOOD SAMARITAN.

Oh that thy creed were sound!

For thou dost sooth the heart, Thou Church of Rome, By thy unwearied watch and varied round

Of service, in thy Saviour's holy home.

I cannot walk the city's sultry streets,

But the wide porch invites to still retreats, Where passion's thirst is calmed, and care's unthankful gloom.

There on a foreign shore

The homesick solitary finds a friend :

Thoughts, prisoned long for lack of speech, outpour Their tears; and doubts in resignation end. I almost fainted from the long delay,

That tangles me within this languid bay,

When comes a foe, my wounds with oil and wine to

CLXXIII.

WHEN I am sad, I say,

"What boots it me to strive, And vex my spirit day by day Dead memories to revive?

Alas! what good will come,
Though we our prayer obtain,

To bring old times triumphant home,
And Heaven's lost sword regain ?

Would not our history run
In the same weary round,
And service, in meek faith begun,
One time in forms be bound?

Union would give us strength,

That strength the earth subdue;

And then comes wealth, and pride at length, And sloth, and prayers untrue."

Nay, this is worldly-wise;

To reason is a crime,

Since the LORD bade His Church arise,

In the dark ancient time.

He wills that she should shine;

So we her flame must trim Around His soul-converting Sign,

And leave the rest to Him.

CLXXIV.

MOSES SEEING THE LAND.

My Father's hope! my childhood's dream!

The promise from on high!

Long waited for ! its glories beam

Now when my death is nigh.

My death is come, but not decay;
Nor eye nor mind is dim ;

The keenness of youth's vigorous day

Thrills in each nerve and limb.

Blest scene! thrice welcome after toil—

If no deceit I view ;

O might my lips but press the soil,

And prove the vision true!