Troubles Of Charles The First

Even such the contrast that, where'er we move, To the mind's eye Religion doth present; Now with her own deep quietness content; Then, like the mountain, thundering from above Against the ancient pine-trees of the grove And the Land's humblest comforts. Now her mood Recals the transformation of the flood, Whose rage the gentle skies in vain reprove, Earth cannot check. O terrible excess Of headstrong will! Can this be Piety? No--some fierce Maniac hath usurped her name; And scourges England struggling to be free: Her peace destroyed! her hopes a wilderness! Her blessings cursed--her glory turned to shame!