The curtain rises and discovers the genius of True Liberty, robed in white, with a wreath of myrtle around her brow; holding in her right hand a sceptre entwined with myrtle, as the emblem of peace, and in her left a sprig of evergreen, to represent the fabled Moly[29] of Ulysses. As she advances to slow and solemn music, she kneels at an altar clothed with black velvet, and raising her eyes to heaven, she exclaims:—
“How long, oh Heaven! shall power with impious hand
In cruel bondage bind proud Britain's land,
Or heresy in fair Religion's robe
Usurp her empire and control the globe!—
Hypocrisy in true Religion's name
Has filled the land of Britain long with shame,
And Freedom, captive, languishes in chains,
While with her sceptre, Superstition reigns.
Restore, oh Heaven! the reign of peace and love,
And let thy wisdom to thy people prove
That Freedom too is governed by her rules,—
No toy for children, and no game for fools;—
Freed from restraint the erring star would fly
Darkling, and guideless, through the untravelled sky—
The stubborn soil would still refuse to yield
The whitening harvest of the fertile field;
The wanton winds, when loosened from their caves,
Would drive the bark uncertain through the waves
This magnet lost, the sea, the air, the world,
To wild destruction would be swiftly hurled!
And say, just Heaven, oh say, is feeble man
Alone exempt from thy harmonious plan?
Shall he alone, in dusky darkness grope,
Free from restraint, and free, alas! from hope?
Slave to his passions, his unbridled will,
Slave to himself, and yet a freeman still?
No! teach him in his pride to own that he
Can only in obedience be free—
That even he can only safely move,
When true to loyalty, and true to love.”
As she speaks, a bright star appears at the farther end of the stage, and ascending slowly, at length stands over the altar, where she kneels. Extending her arm towards the star, she rises and cries in triumph:—
“I hail the sign, pure as the starry gem,
Which rested o'er the babe of Bethlehem—
My prayer is heard, and Heaven's sublime decree
Will rend our chains, and Britain shall be free!”
Then enters the embodiment of Puritanism, represented in the peculiar dress of the Roundheads—with peaked hat, a quaint black doublet and cloak, rigidly plain, and cut in the straight fashion of the sect; black Flemish breeches, and grey hose; huge square-toed shoes, tied with coarse leather thongs; and around the waist a buff leather belt, in which he wears a sword. He comes in singing, as he walks, one of the Puritan versions, or rather perversions of the Psalms, which have so grossly marred the exquisite beauty of the original, and of which one stanza will suffice the reader:—
“Arise, oh Lord, save me, my God,
For thou my foes hast stroke,
All on the cheek-bone, and the teeth
Of wicked men hast broke.”[30]
Then standing at some distance from the altar, he rolls up his eyes, till nothing but the whites can be seen, and is exercised in prayer. With a smile of bitter contempt the genius of True Liberty proceeds:—
“See where he comes, with visage long and grim,
Whining with nasal twang his impious hymn!
See where he stands, nor bows the suppliant knee,
He apes the Publican, but acts the Pharisee—
Snatching the sword of just Jehovah's wrath,
And damning all who leave his thorny path.
Now by this wand which Hermes, with a smile,
Gave to Ulysses in the Circean isle,
I will again exert the power divine,
And change to Britons these disgusting swine.”
She waves the sprig of Moly over the head of the Puritan three or four times, who, sensible of the force of the charm, cries out:—
“Hah! what is this! strange feelings fill my heart;
Avaunt thee, tempter! I defy thy art—
Up, Israel! hasten to your tents, and smite
These sons of Belial, and th' Amalekite,—
Philistia is upon us with Goliah,
Come, call the roll from twelfth of Nehemiah,[31]
Gird up your loins and buckle on your sword,
Fight with your prayers, your powder, and the word.
How, General 'Faint-not,'[32] has your spirit sunk?
Let not God's soldier yield unto a Monk.”[33]