Poems By John Moultrie. New ed |
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THE BLACK FENCE.
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 | Poems |  |
254
THE BLACK FENCE.
'Twas at the point of sunrise, on a clear October day,
That through the neighbouring village-fields I took my lonely way;
The fields, well known in former days, which lie around the Grange;
But years had past since I saw them last, and brought a doleful change.
That through the neighbouring village-fields I took my lonely way;
The fields, well known in former days, which lie around the Grange;
But years had past since I saw them last, and brought a doleful change.
For where the ancient footpath lay, by briery hedge and stile,
And hill and valley stretch'd away for many a beauteous mile,—
Where grass grew green, and wild flowers bloom'd, refreshing soul and sense,
Now lour'd along the whole domain, a black and frowning fence.
And hill and valley stretch'd away for many a beauteous mile,—
Where grass grew green, and wild flowers bloom'd, refreshing soul and sense,
Now lour'd along the whole domain, a black and frowning fence.
A dismal sight to a poet's eye it was, as you may think,
That black and frowning fence, without a break, without a chink;
Hiding all the glorious landscape, and girding it about
With impenetrable palings, grim within and grim without.
That black and frowning fence, without a break, without a chink;
Hiding all the glorious landscape, and girding it about
With impenetrable palings, grim within and grim without.
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Then my spirit's eyes were open'd, and I saw, as poets see,
The visible and the viewless world how closely they agree;
And the black and frowning fence became, to this poor thought of mine,
Of changes in these latter days a symbol and a sign.—
The visible and the viewless world how closely they agree;
And the black and frowning fence became, to this poor thought of mine,
Of changes in these latter days a symbol and a sign.—
—Of changes dark and troublous—for the air is full of change,
Perplexing English hearts and minds with doubt obscure and strange;
And a sword hath come on each English home, and a time of mortal strife,
For the truths on which Man's soul must feed, and the breath of his inner life.
Perplexing English hearts and minds with doubt obscure and strange;
And a sword hath come on each English home, and a time of mortal strife,
For the truths on which Man's soul must feed, and the breath of his inner life.
And 'tis not the good and the wicked now who for right and wrong contend,
But brother with kind brother—loving friend with loving friend;
And the true are ranged against the true, and the good against the good,
And my spirit wrought with uneasy thought as I looked on that fence of wood.
But brother with kind brother—loving friend with loving friend;
And the true are ranged against the true, and the good against the good,
And my spirit wrought with uneasy thought as I looked on that fence of wood.
I thought—Had it a voice to speak, like this its speech might be:—
“Here I stand a black partition-line between the bond and free;
“Between the sons of England's Church, their altar and their home,
“And those who bend the captive neck and bow the knee to Rome.
“Here I stand a black partition-line between the bond and free;
“Between the sons of England's Church, their altar and their home,
“And those who bend the captive neck and bow the knee to Rome.
“I stand, a sign of discord, to divide and keep apart
“The warm and generous sympathies of English heart and heart;
“A black and baleful monitor of hate and strife, to last,
“Till the cup of Rome's enchantments fail, and her cruel reign be past.
“The warm and generous sympathies of English heart and heart;
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“Till the cup of Rome's enchantments fail, and her cruel reign be past.
“I close encircle those within and compass them around,
“As the spell of priestcraft cramps the soul in its dark and narrow bound;
“On those without I sternly frown, a sore to heart and eye,
“While I cast my shadow o'er their land, and half shut out their sky.”
“As the spell of priestcraft cramps the soul in its dark and narrow bound;
“On those without I sternly frown, a sore to heart and eye,
“While I cast my shadow o'er their land, and half shut out their sky.”
Even so, thought I,—thy words are sooth, ill-favour'd thing of oak,
And in thy last the voice itself of the old enchantress spoke!
And sorely doth she labour now, like thee, to stretch her pale
Round English hearts and English homes and English hill and dale.
And in thy last the voice itself of the old enchantress spoke!
And sorely doth she labour now, like thee, to stretch her pale
Round English hearts and English homes and English hill and dale.
Ah! woe for them, the simple ones, entangled in her spell,
The souls that in the twilight of her dreary prison dwell!
In the blessed air of freedom they no longer claim a part,
They have lost their English birthright and the true old English heart.
The souls that in the twilight of her dreary prison dwell!
In the blessed air of freedom they no longer claim a part,
They have lost their English birthright and the true old English heart.
To them, nor truth, nor falsehood can be what either seems,
For their spirits grope and stumble in a shadow-land of dreams:
Mesmeric sleep hath seized them, and they reel as they were drunk,
With the spiritual witchcrafts of the priest and of the monk.
For their spirits grope and stumble in a shadow-land of dreams:
Mesmeric sleep hath seized them, and they reel as they were drunk,
With the spiritual witchcrafts of the priest and of the monk.
They must give their souls to triple crowns and copes and scarlet hats;—
Themselves—and not their idols—to the moles and to the bats:
Themselves, their homes and substance, their bodies and their souls,
To the blind who lead the blinder—to the bats and to the moles.
Themselves—and not their idols—to the moles and to the bats:
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To the blind who lead the blinder—to the bats and to the moles.
For liberty of mind and will,—for bold unfetter'd thought,—
They must think as they are bidden, and believe what they are taught:
They must shut their eyes and ope their ears, fast bound by slavish laws,
Rome's hook within their nostrils, and her bridle on their jaws.
They must think as they are bidden, and believe what they are taught:
They must shut their eyes and ope their ears, fast bound by slavish laws,
Rome's hook within their nostrils, and her bridle on their jaws.
Alas! and must this curse prevail, these deep delusions spread,
Till the pulse of England beats no more, till her noble life hath fled?
Must her spirit's light be quench'd in night? must she barter faith and hope
For a mumbled Ave-Mary!—for the blessing of the Pope?
Till the pulse of England beats no more, till her noble life hath fled?
Must her spirit's light be quench'd in night? must she barter faith and hope
For a mumbled Ave-Mary!—for the blessing of the Pope?
Must she see her choicest offspring—every graced and gifted son—
Taste—relish—drain the poison'd cup, and madden one by one?
Must her learned and her pious,—must her gentle and her brave
Be lost in witchery strong as death, and cruel as the grave?
Taste—relish—drain the poison'd cup, and madden one by one?
Must her learned and her pious,—must her gentle and her brave
Be lost in witchery strong as death, and cruel as the grave?
Must She, the Imperial Nation, give place, and cease to be
The Lady of the Kingdoms, the one birthplace of the free?
The land where Thought and Wisdom dwelt in fresh unfading youth?
The land where God is worshipp'd still in spirit and in truth?
The Lady of the Kingdoms, the one birthplace of the free?
The land where Thought and Wisdom dwelt in fresh unfading youth?
The land where God is worshipp'd still in spirit and in truth?
Must She, whose voice was Truth and Might, submit to fawn and whine—
To creep, and crawl, and cringe, and cant, at a Popish idol's shrine?
Must Popish candles be her light for altar, home, and hearth,
And a crazy old Italian monk her God and Christ on earth?
To creep, and crawl, and cringe, and cant, at a Popish idol's shrine?
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And a crazy old Italian monk her God and Christ on earth?
Or shall the indignant spirit of her brave old Saxon mind
Burst forth and rend the welkin, like a rushing mighty wind?
Shall the fountains of her lowest deep break up and overflow,
Till in one whelming flood of wrath are Church and State laid low?
Burst forth and rend the welkin, like a rushing mighty wind?
Shall the fountains of her lowest deep break up and overflow,
Till in one whelming flood of wrath are Church and State laid low?
Shall a day of tribulation come for people and for priest,
Till a sea of blood wash out at length the image of the Beast;
And the land spew forth her teachers like a cursed viper-brood,
Which have coiled around her heart-strings, which are tainting her life's blood?
Till a sea of blood wash out at length the image of the Beast;
And the land spew forth her teachers like a cursed viper-brood,
Which have coiled around her heart-strings, which are tainting her life's blood?
Such thoughts waxed hot within me as I paced beside the pale;
But soon did better hopes arise, and a brighter mood prevail;
For now the dark domain was past, and right before mine eye
The grey Church-tower distinctly rose between the earth and sky.
But soon did better hopes arise, and a brighter mood prevail;
For now the dark domain was past, and right before mine eye
The grey Church-tower distinctly rose between the earth and sky.
It stood in peace and silence—for the hush of dawn was spread
O'er the temple of the living, o'er the chambers of the dead;
And the spirit of my Mother soothed the spirit of her son,
And I felt a flow of happier thought and livelier faith begun.
O'er the temple of the living, o'er the chambers of the dead;
And the spirit of my Mother soothed the spirit of her son,
And I felt a flow of happier thought and livelier faith begun.
And nestling close beside the church, like a sweet and docile child,
The little graceful village-school in its simple beauty smiled;
And above its clear white gable, at a distance, I descried
The symbol of the blessed cross on which our Saviour died.
The little graceful village-school in its simple beauty smiled;
And above its clear white gable, at a distance, I descried
The symbol of the blessed cross on which our Saviour died.
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And third in that sweet company—some paces to the right—
The dwelling of the pastor on a sudden came in sight:
Its chimneys all were smokeless, its repose was calm and deep,
For the household still were sleeping sound, as pious Christians sleep.
The dwelling of the pastor on a sudden came in sight:
Its chimneys all were smokeless, its repose was calm and deep,
For the household still were sleeping sound, as pious Christians sleep.
And stretching to the left afar, the lovely landscape lay,
O'er which the morn was melting now the twilight cold and grey;
And open lea, and hedgerow-tree, and distant mead and lawn
Were touch'd with light serene and white from the eyelids of the dawn.
O'er which the morn was melting now the twilight cold and grey;
And open lea, and hedgerow-tree, and distant mead and lawn
Were touch'd with light serene and white from the eyelids of the dawn.
And while the prospect filled my soul with its silent, deep repose,
Above the far horizon's verge the cloudless sun arose;
And the eastern hills were tipp'd and tinged with many a gorgeous hue,
And the sky grew bright with sunshine, and the grass was fresh with dew.
Above the far horizon's verge the cloudless sun arose;
And the eastern hills were tipp'd and tinged with many a gorgeous hue,
And the sky grew bright with sunshine, and the grass was fresh with dew.
And the stir of life was felt around, in earth and air and sky,
And a thousand carols smote my ear from all sweet birds that fly;
And I knew that things which creep on earth, and in the waters swim,
Sent up, in silence or in sound, their heartfelt morning hymn.
And a thousand carols smote my ear from all sweet birds that fly;
And I knew that things which creep on earth, and in the waters swim,
Sent up, in silence or in sound, their heartfelt morning hymn.
No thought of fear or dark distrust could live in such an hour,
And my spirit burst its heavy bonds, and the spells had lost their power;
And, imaged forth in that fair scene, I saw, or seemed to see,
A blessed type of England's Church, and of what her fate shall be.
And my spirit burst its heavy bonds, and the spells had lost their power;
And, imaged forth in that fair scene, I saw, or seemed to see,
A blessed type of England's Church, and of what her fate shall be.
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I saw the hour of darkness pass, and the sun once more arise—
The glorious Sun of Righteousness—in her late tempestuous skies;
And the dreams and visions of the night had faded quite away,
And she woke from sleep, oppress'd but deep, to the light and life of day.
The glorious Sun of Righteousness—in her late tempestuous skies;
And the dreams and visions of the night had faded quite away,
And she woke from sleep, oppress'd but deep, to the light and life of day.
She rose and stood like yon grey tower, as then I saw it stand,
Begirt by smiling English homes—the watch-tower of the land;
And bending still her steadfast gaze, from earliest morn to even,
O'er sunnier hills and vales than those;—the hills and vales of Heaven.
Begirt by smiling English homes—the watch-tower of the land;
And bending still her steadfast gaze, from earliest morn to even,
O'er sunnier hills and vales than those;—the hills and vales of Heaven.
She rose and stood with dauntless brow, for her heart was now at ease,—
Brave spirits throng'd around her—children clomb about her knees;
And there burst, to greet her waking ear, a myriad-throated hymn,
From village chapel lone and grey, and cathedral vast and dim.
Brave spirits throng'd around her—children clomb about her knees;
And there burst, to greet her waking ear, a myriad-throated hymn,
From village chapel lone and grey, and cathedral vast and dim.
She rose and brake her magic bonds, and cast her cords away,
And strode to her appointed strife, where the Camp of darkness lay:
Fair as the sun, clear as the moon, when her beams delight us most,
And dreadful in her anger as an arm'd and banner'd host.
And strode to her appointed strife, where the Camp of darkness lay:
Fair as the sun, clear as the moon, when her beams delight us most,
And dreadful in her anger as an arm'd and banner'd host.
For the hour of woe had sifted her, and now were purged away
The false and traitor-hearted from the ranks of her array;
And her legions marched in serried files, compact, with one accord,
To do or die, like valiant men, in the Battle of the Lord.
The false and traitor-hearted from the ranks of her array;
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To do or die, like valiant men, in the Battle of the Lord.
And the iron heart of Rome grew faint, and her brazen brow turn'd pale,
And she shrank aghast from the trumpet-blast and the clang of her foemen's mail;
And a throb of trembling hope was felt in the depth of her darkest hells,
Through dungeons red with martyrs' blood, and the Inquisition's cells.
And she shrank aghast from the trumpet-blast and the clang of her foemen's mail;
And a throb of trembling hope was felt in the depth of her darkest hells,
Through dungeons red with martyrs' blood, and the Inquisition's cells.
No peace, but deadly warfare still, between those twain must be,
While the one would bind both heart and mind, and the other set them free:
No peace for Rome and England, but a stern, relentless strife;
Till Light shall vanquish Darkness, Death be swallow'd up of Life.
While the one would bind both heart and mind, and the other set them free:
No peace for Rome and England, but a stern, relentless strife;
Till Light shall vanquish Darkness, Death be swallow'd up of Life.
For the tyrant and the despot hate the noble and the brave,
Who loose the captive's yoke and break the fetters of the slave:
And 'tis England's glorious mission—far as ocean's billows roll,
To kindle freedom's gospel-light in Man's benighted soul.
Who loose the captive's yoke and break the fetters of the slave:
And 'tis England's glorious mission—far as ocean's billows roll,
To kindle freedom's gospel-light in Man's benighted soul.
Our Church, where English steeples rise, where English navies roam,
Sends bold evangelists abroad, gives pastors true at home;
And the open Book is in her hand, and to her alone 'tis given
To brighten earth around our path, while she guides our souls to Heaven.
Sends bold evangelists abroad, gives pastors true at home;
And the open Book is in her hand, and to her alone 'tis given
To brighten earth around our path, while she guides our souls to Heaven.
You may trace her spirit in the looks of each English passer-by—
In the manly step, and the hearty voice, and the calm and dauntless eye;
In the speech of man and maiden, in the face of age and youth,
You may read a people trained by Her in the light and love of Truth.
In the manly step, and the hearty voice, and the calm and dauntless eye;
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You may read a people trained by Her in the light and love of Truth.
She bids her wedded pastors' homes in every village rise,
Gladden'd by children's guileless mirth and bright maternal eyes;
That so the rudest peasant in her farthest vale may see
How beautiful and blest a thing a Christian home may be.
Gladden'd by children's guileless mirth and bright maternal eyes;
That so the rudest peasant in her farthest vale may see
How beautiful and blest a thing a Christian home may be.
She hath wash'd us from ancestral sin in the spirit-cleansing flood,
She hath fed the life which then she gave with the Saviour's flesh and blood;
She blesses still our marriage morn, she soothes our dying bed,—
She gives our bodies back to earth when the deathless soul hath fled.
She hath fed the life which then she gave with the Saviour's flesh and blood;
She blesses still our marriage morn, she soothes our dying bed,—
She gives our bodies back to earth when the deathless soul hath fled.
God send her swift deliverance from the plagues which vex her now!
God heal the discord in her heart, and chase the trouble from her brow!
And when her penal hour hath past, and purged her from her sin,
Restore her prosperous state without, and her peace and joy within.
God heal the discord in her heart, and chase the trouble from her brow!
And when her penal hour hath past, and purged her from her sin,
Restore her prosperous state without, and her peace and joy within.
God give her wavering clergy back that honest heart and true,
Which once was theirs, ere Popish fraud its spells around them threw;
Nor let them barter wife and child, bright hearth and happy home,
For the drunken bliss of the strumpet-kiss of the Jezebel of Rome.
Which once was theirs, ere Popish fraud its spells around them threw;
Nor let them barter wife and child, bright hearth and happy home,
For the drunken bliss of the strumpet-kiss of the Jezebel of Rome.
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And God console all holy hearts, now yearning for the day,
When this black cloud shall pass at length from England's skies away!
God help us all to struggle still, with patience and with might,
Against darkness, lies, and bondage, for Freedom, Truth, and Light!
When this black cloud shall pass at length from England's skies away!
God help us all to struggle still, with patience and with might,
Against darkness, lies, and bondage, for Freedom, Truth, and Light!
And God forgive the fallen ones by their own weak hearts betray'd,
And convert the misbeliever, and reclaim the renegade!
And God unite the good and pure, the faithful and the wise,
Till the Dayspring come on the night of Rome, and the Sun of Truth arise!
And convert the misbeliever, and reclaim the renegade!
And God unite the good and pure, the faithful and the wise,
Till the Dayspring come on the night of Rome, and the Sun of Truth arise!
| Poems | |