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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,
