Moral Pieces, in Prose and Verse/The Destruction of the Inquisition at Goa
THE DESTRUCTION OF THE INQUISITION AT GOA.
IN distant ages, which the rolling stream
Of time has wasted like a baseless dream,
While o'er the earth the clouds of darkness hung,
Forth from the deep abyss a monster sprung,
At first a weak and withered wand he bore,
The mask of sanctity his features wore,
A holy zeal he prais'd, menacing loud,
And to the holy church his head he bow'd,
Arm'd with her thunders, as her champion rose,
Though leagu'd in secret with her mortal foes,
And dark resolves, and deeds of fiendish spite
Lurk'd in his hollow bosom from the light;
Deep draughts of blood in secret cells would drain,
His ear, like music lov'd the groan of pain,
Forth to the rack the tortur'd form he led,
And the fierce flames with guiltless victims fed,
With bolts, and bars, his wretched prey confin'd,
And claim'd dominion o'er the free-born mind.
His lofty dome rose frowning on the shore,
Dark as his sins, and secret as his pow'r;
When midnight wrapt the world in Stygian shade,
The first accursed stone was hewn, and laid,
And in the cavern'd cells with malice fraught,
Base cruelty and superstition wrought.
Mistaken zeal the pondrous arches rear'd,
Paus'd o'er her work, and as she saw it fear'd,
And close-veil'd mystery, with finger slow,
Plac'd on the massy gates, the seal of woe.
High on the dome, her audit terror kept,
And in the cavern'd cells pale misery wept,
And prison'd virtue toil'd with ceaseless care,
To feed the wasting lamp of dim despair,
And helpless innocence, with fainting breath,
Fell weak and tortur'd in the arms of death.
Long, his dire arm the humbled nations sway'd,
And sceptred kings a fearful homage paid;
Harsh on the neck, the yoke of bondage prest,
The belt of iron bound the throbbing breast,
The smitten spirit sunk to rise no more,
And nature trembled at the load she bore.
But while the monster, with infernal sport,
Held the dark revels of his blood-stain'd court,
A heavenly ray with quick effulgence stream'd
Through those drear cells where light had never beam'd;
He heard the bursting bars, the captives free,
The breaking chain, the shout of liberty,
Saw thro' his grate a form of heavenly birth,
Light with soft step upon the grateful earth;
In frantic rage his blood-shot eyes he roll'd,
His inward pangs his changing features told;
His champions fled, his guards forsook their place,
His mighty temple trembled to its base,
Its cleaving arch received the sweeping blast,
Its mouldering columns fell in ruin vast,
Loud yell'd the fiend, with hopeless fury fir'd,
And as his fabric sunk, his pow'r expir'd.
Hoarse moving thunders roar'd a mighty knell,
The glad earth shouted as the prison fell,
The pow'rs infernal shriek'd in hollow moan,
And their grim monarch trembled on his throne.