ed friend in a walk through different parts of his estate, with a view to fix upon the site of a new church which he intended to erect. It was one of the most beautiful mornings of a mild season, our feelings were in harmony with the cherishing influences of the scene; and, such being our purpose, we were naturally led to look back upon past events with wonder and gratitude, and on the future with hope. Not long afterwards, some of the Sonnets which will be found towards the close of this series, were produced as a private memorial of that morning's occupation.

"The Catholic Question, which was agitated in Parliament about that time, kept my thoughts in the same course; and it struck me that certain points in the Ecclesiastical History of our Country, might advantageously be presented to view in verse. Accordingly, I took up the subject, and what I now offer to the reader, was the re

sult."

These fine Sketches are divided into three parts:-the first embraces many interesting topics, from the introduction of Christianity into Britain to the consummation of the Papal dominion; the second, from the close of the troubles in the reign of Charles the First; and the third, from the Restoration to the present times. Mr Wordsworth, with a fine philosophic eye, fixes on those incidents, events, actions, and characters, which were most influential, for good or evil, on the religious state of England, down through those long and various ages. And in the form of Sonnets, he gives expression to his thoughts or feelings, so that there is hardly one subject of magni

tude in the ecclesiastical history of England, on which we do not find a thought that breathes, or a word that burns. It is obvious, that no one regular connected poem could have been written on so vast a subject. But although each Sonnet, according to the law of that kind of composition, is in itself a whole, yet frequently two or three of the Series are beautifully connected and blended together, so as to read like connected stanzas of one poem. And indeed when the whole series-all its three parts-is perused, the effect is magnificent, and great events, and deeds, and minds, seem to have been passing processionally before us over the floor of an enchanted stage. Mr Wordsworth's mind is familiar with all these as with matters of to-day, and therefore he speaks of them all as of things known and felt by every man of liberal education. He flings a beam of light on some transaction dark in antiquity, and it rises up for a moment before us-he raises the coffin-lid in some old vault, and we behold the still face of one formerly great or wise on earth-he rebuilds, as with a magic wand, the holy edifice that for centuries has lain in ruins-monks and nuns walk once more in the open sun-light, and all the fading or faded pageantries of faith re-appear and vanish in melancholy and sublime mutation. Can we do better than quote a good many of these noble sonnets? The five following all hang together, and are above the pitch of any other living poet.

TREPIDATION OF THE DRUIDS.

Screams round the Arch-druid's brow the Seamew-white
As Menai's foam; and towards the mystic ring

Where Augurs stand, the future questioning,

Slowly the Cormorant aims her heavy flight,

Portending ruin to each baleful rite,

That, in the lapse of seasons, 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 fulfill'd ;-the Julian spear

A way first open'd; 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.

DRUIDICAL EXCOMMUNICATION, &C.

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 bestow'd!

This water-fowl was, among the Druids, an emblem of those traditions connected with the deluge that made an important part of their mysteries. The Cormorant was a bird of bad omen.

Yet shall it claim our reverence, that to God,
Ancient of days! that to the eternal Sire
These jealous Ministers of Law aspire,

As to the one sole fount whence Wisdom flow'd,
Justice, and Order. Tremblingly escaped,
As if with prescience of the coming storm,
That intimation when the stars were shaped ;
And yon thick woods maintain the primal truth,
Debased by many a superstitious form,
That fills the Soul with unavailing ruth.

UNCERTAINTY.

Darkness surrounds us; seeking, we are lost
On Snowdon's wilds, amid Brigantian coves,
Or where the solitary Shepherd roves
Along the Plain of Sarum, by the Ghost
Of silently departed ages cross'd;

And where the boatmen of the Western Isles
Slackens his course-to mark those holy piles
Which yet survive on bleak Iona's coast.
Nor these, nor monuments of eldest fame,
Nor Taliesin's unforgotten lays,

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.

PERSECUTION.

Lament for Diocletian's fiery sword
Works busy as the lightning; but instinct
With malice ne'er to deadliest weapon link'd,
Which God's ethereal storehouses afford
Against the Followers of the incarnate Lord
It rages ;-some are smitten in the field

Some pierced beneath the unavailing shield

Of sacred home ;-with pomp are others gored
And dreadful respite. Thus was Alban tried,

England's first Martyr! whom no threats could shake;

Self-offer'd Victim, for his friend he died,

And for the faith-nor shall his name forsake
That Hill, whose flowery platform seems to rise
By Nature deck'd for holiest sacrifice.

RECOVERY.

As, when a storm hath ceased, the birds regain
Their cheerfulness, and busily retrim
Their nests, or chaunt a gratulating hymn
To the blue ether and bespangled plain;
Even so, in many a re-constructed fane,
Have the Survivors of this Storm renew'd
Their holy rites with vocal gratitude;
And solemn ceremonials they ordain

To celebrate their great deliverance;

Most feelingly instructed 'mid their fear,

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.

This hill at St Alban's must have been an object of great interest to the imagination of the venerable Bede, who thus describes it with a delicate feeling delightful to meet with in that rude age, traces of which are frequent in his works: "Variis herbarum floribus depictus sino usque quaque vestitus in quo nihil repente arduum nihil præceps, nihil abruptum, quem lateribus longe lateque deductum in modum æquoris natura complanat, dignum videlicet eum pro insita sibi specie venustatis jam olim reddens, qui beati martyris cruore dicaretur."

After touching on the temptations that spring from Roman refinements, on heresies and discord at the altar, on the struggles of the Britons against the barbarians,

"With Arthur bearing through the stormy field,

The Virgin sculptur'd on his Christian shield;"

and many other bright or dark points in the history of the Faith, the poet's mind once again flows on in a continued stream, and we are enabled to present our readers with seven successive sonnets.

PRIMITIVE SAXON CLERGY.

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!
Such Priest, when service worthy of his care
Has call'd him forth to breath the common air,
Might seem a saintly Image from its shrine
Descended; happy are the eyes that meet
The Apparition; evil thoughts are stay'd
At his approach, and low-bow'd 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.

OTHER INFLUENCES.

Ah, when the Frame, round which in love we clung,
Is chill'd 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

Which ill can brook more rational relief;

Hence, prayers are shaped amiss, and dirges sung
For those whose doom is fix'd! The way is smooth
For Power that travels with the human heart :--

Confession ministers, the pang to sooth

In him who at the ghost of guilt doth start.
Ye holy Men, so earnest in your care,
Of your own mighty instruments beware!

SECLUSION.

Lance, shield, and sword relinquish'd-at his side
A Bead-roll, in his hand a clasped 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

In cloister'd privacy. But not to dwell
In soft repose he comes. Within his cell,
Round the decaying trunk of human prides,
At morn, and even, and midnight's silent hour,
Do penitential cogitations cling:

Like ivy, round some ancient elm, they twine
In grisly folds and strictures serpentine ;
Yet, while they strangle without mercy, bring
For recompence their own perennial bower.

CONTINUED.

Methinks that to some vacant Hermitage
My feet would rather turn-to some dry nook
Scoop'd out of living rock, and near a brook

Hurl'd down a mountain-cove from stage to stage,

* Having spoken of the zeal, disinterestedness, and temperance of the clergy of those times, Bede thus proceeds: "Unde et in magna erat veneratione tempore illo religionis habitus, ita ut ubicunque clericus aliquis, aut monachus adveniret, gaudenter ab omnibus tanquam Dei famulus exciperetur. Etiam si in itinere pergens inveniretur, accurrebant, et flexo cervice, vel manu signari, vel ore illiuse benedici, gaudebant. Verbis quoque horum exhortatoriis diligenter auditum prabebant."-Lib. iii. chap. 26.

Yet tempering, for my sight, its bustling rage
In the soft heaven of a translucent pool;
Thence creeping under forest arches cool,
Fit haunt of shapes whose glorious equipage

Perchance would throng my dreams. A beechen bowl,
A maple dish, my furniture should be;

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.

REPROOF.

But what if One, through grove or flowery mead,
Indulging thus at will the creeping feet
Of a voluptuous indolence, should meet
The hovering Shade of venerable Bede;
The Saint, the Scholar, from a circle freed
Of toil stupendous, in a hallowed seat
Of Learning, where he heard the billows beat
On a wild coast-rough monitors to feed
Perpetual industry. Sublime Recluse !
The recreant soul, that dares to shun the debt
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! *

SAXON MONASTERIES, AND LIGHTS AND SHADES OF THE RELIGION.

By such examples mov'd to unbought pains,
The people work like congregated bees: +
Eager to build the quiet Fortresses
Where Piety, as they believe, obtains
From Heaven a general blessing; timely rains
Or needful sun-shine; prosperous enterprize,
And peace, and equity.-Bold faith! yet rise
The sacred Towers for universal gains.

The Sensual think with rev'rence of the palms
Which the chaste Votaries seek, beyond the grave;
If penance be redeemable, thence aíms

Flow to the Poor, and freedom to the Slave;

And, if full oft the Sanctuary save

Lives black with guilt, ferocity it calms.

MISSIONS AND TRAVELS.

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

To their beloved 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 perish'd utterly,

Nor leaves her speech wherewith to clothe a sigh

That would lament her ;-Memphis, Tyre, are gone
With all their Arts-while classic Lore glides on
By these Religious saved for all posterity.

Mr Wordsworth then speaks of Alfred-of the Danish Conquests-of the Norman Conquest-the Crusades, and

the power of the Pope. The concluding sonnet of Part I. is indeed multum in parvo.

He expired in the act of concluding a translation of St John's Gospel.

See in Turner's History, Vol. iii. p. 528, the account of the erection of Ramsey Monastery. Penances were removable by the performances of acts of charity and benevolence.

PAPAL DOMINION.

Unless to Peter's Chair the viewless wind
Must come and ask permission when to blow,
What further empire would it have? for now
A ghostly Domination, unconfined

As that by dreaming Bards to Love assign'd,
Sits there in sober truth-to raise the low-
Perplex the wise the strong to overthrow-
Through earth and Heaven to bind and to unbind !
Resist the thunder quails thee!crouch-rebuff
Shall be thy recompence! from land to land
The ancient thrones of Christendom are stuff
For occupation of a magic wand,

And 'tis the Pope that wields it,-whether rough
Or smooth his front, our world is in his hand !

In Part II. the poet, after a few fine sonnets on subjects connected with those preceding, breathes forth se

VOL. XII.

veral that may be quoted and read together, and which seem to us at once beautiful and grand.

CORRUPTIONS OF THE HIGHER CLERGY.

"Woe to you Prelates! rioting in ease
And cumbrous wealth-the shame of your estate;
You on whose progress dazzling trains await
Of pompous horses; whom vain titles please,
Who will be served by others on their knees,
Yet will yourselves to God no service pay;
Pastors who neither take nor point the way
To Heaven; for either lost in vanities
Ye have no skill to teach, or if ye know
And speak the word" Alas! of fearful things
"Tis the most fearful when the People's eye
Abuse hath clear'd from vain imaginings;
And taught the general voice to prophesy
Of Justice arm'd, and Pride to be laid low.

ABUSE OF MONASTIC POWER.

And what is Penance with her knotted thong,
Mortification with the shirt of hair,

Wan cheek, and knees indurated with prayer,
Vigils, and fastings rigorous as long,
If cloister'd Avarice scruple not to wrong
The pious, humble, useful Secular,
And robs the People of his daily care,

Scorning their wants because her arm is strong?
Inversion strange, that to a Monk, who lives
For self, and struggles with himself alone,
The amplest share of heavenly favour gives;
And hath allotted, in the world's esteem,
To such a higher station than to him
Who on the good of others builds his own.

MONASTIC VOLUPTUOUSNESS.

Yet more,-round many a Convent's blazing fire
Unhallow'd threads of revelry are spun;
There Venus sits disguised like a Nun,-
While Bacchus, clothed in semblance of a Friar,
Pours out his choicest beverage, high and higher
Sparkling, until it cannot chuse but run
Over the bowl, whose silver lip hath won
An instant kiss of masterful desire-*

To stay the precious waste. In every brain
Spreads the dominion of the sprightly juice,

Through the wide world to madding Fancy dear,

Till the arch'd roof, with resolute abuse

Of its grave echoes, swells a choral strain,

Whose votive burthen is- OUR KINGDOM'S HERE!'

Ꮓ