113. Apostacy
|
{190}
FRANCE! I will think of thee as what thou wast, |
When Poictiers show'd her zeal for the true
creed; |
| Or in that age, when Holy Truth, though cast |
|
On a rank soil, yet was a thriving seed, |
Thy schools within, from neighbouring countries
chased;
|
| E'en of thy pagan day I bear to read, |
| Thy Martyrs sanctified the guilty host, |
The Sons of blessèd John, rear'd on a western
coast. |
I dare not think of thee as what thou art, |
Lest thoughts too deep for man should trouble
me. |
|
It is not safe to place the mind and heart
|
|
On brink of evil, or its flames to see, {191}
|
|
Lest they should dizzy, or some taint impart,
|
|
Or to our sin a fascination be.
|
|
And so in silence I will now proclaim
|
Hate of thy present self, and scarce will sound thy
name [Note].
|
|
Off the French coast.
June 26, 1833.
|