XI

A sudden conflict rises from the swell

Of a proud slavery met by tenets strained

In Liberty's behalf. Fears, true or feigned,

Spread through all ranks; and lo! the Sentinel

Who loudest rang his pulpit‘ larum bell

Stands at the Bar, absolved by female eyes

Mingling their glances with grave flatteries

Lavished on Him — that England may rebel

Against her ancient virtue. HIGH and LOW,

Watch-words of Party, on all tongues are rife;

As if a Church, though sprung from heaven, must owe

To opposites and fierce extremes her life,—

Not to the golden mean, and quiet flow

Of truths that soften hatred, temper strife.