 | The Poetical Works of Robert Montgomery |  |
XXI.—PRIEST IN OFFICE.
Rome for the spirit a gymnasium proves:Her Priests are posture-masters for the soul
Deluded, who can twist and turn the mind
And morals, just as Superstition shapes
Her ritual, or Effect on man requires.
Seek we a proof for this satanic aim
Of sacrilege on souls? Behold it, there!
The wooden screen of yon confession-shrine
Behind whose shelter lurks a probing Priest,
Contains it. 'Twere enough to blot the sun
At noon-tide blaze, to horrify the blood,
Or make Humanity to blush and burn
With shame eternal, might plain Truth disclose
All which Confessional has heard, or done,
Or vilely dared within the bosom's depth.—
Laid on the rack of Rome's lascivious tongue
The mental victim of confession sobs
Tones which are torture, while the fiendish words
Pierce their exploring way with foul success
Or skill'd advantage, till the Heart is won
And all the sacredness of soul expires.
| The Poetical Works of Robert Montgomery | |