Superstition then triumphed over the minds of the masses. In yon valley was the sequestered grove devoted to obscure and horrid mysteries—altars were reared, on which the innocent, as well as the guilty, were doomed to bleed—the Druid priests performed the horrid murders, and pretended that they could, by such means, foretel future events, blasphemously asserting that the attitude in which the victim fell, the writhing agonies of expiring life, the manner in which the blood flowed, or the convulsions of the wounds opened, or closed, were indications of futurity—they conducted gloomy processions, with victims, bound with cords, for slaughter and sacrifice, filling the air with shrieks of agony and screams of horror—gross idolatry, savage manners, bloody rites, funeral pile, echoing whoop—all, all were there!
Wrapped in deep sleep, the ancient Britons lay,
Hugged their vile chains, and dream’d their age away.
Such was Wales, and such was Britain too, before the light of the Christian Religion shone on her coasts. That heaven-born system, with its train of imperishable blessings, took its stand amid these wild regions, and like yon sun in the heavens, diffused her light, extended her influence, and multiplied her bloodless conquests. She has organized, humanized, civilized, moralized, and, in many instances, evangelized the inhabitants. Christianity has expelled idolatry, restored natural affection, and has conferred, and is conferring, numerous, most substantial, and positive blessings. And while she has, on the one hand, discouraged and eradicated those vices which were the harbingers of a nation’s ruin, she has, on the other, implanted those principles on which the welfare of nations depend. It is true she has prepared weapons, but they are not carnal; enlisted soldiers, but their fight is without “confused noise of warriors, and garments rolled in blood;” she has erected a standard, but it is the Cross; unfurled a banner, but its emblem is the dove—the bond of brotherhood; and when sovereigns, senators, and legislators, are properly influenced by the pacific principles of the Gospel, war will be known no more; the sun will no more rise upon an embattled plain, nor set upon a field of blood.
Then the labourer will
Drive his yoked oxen, and with careless steps
Lean o’er the share, and carol as he guides
The obliterating furrow o’er their graves.
Contrasting the present with the past, we feel that other times now bless our land, and that while peace and joy bound over the mountain tops, we can with peculiar feelings give utterance to the language of the poet:—
Where once the Roman marshall’d his bold host,
Bristling with swords and spears the rocky heights,
The shepherd leads his flock, and the young lambs
In sporting gambols tread the flowery turf.
NEW HARBOUR.
Here numerous ships security may gain
From raging tempests and the blustering main.
For want of a more extensive area of shelter, and deeper water, great destruction of shipping has occurred on the rocks outside the Holyhead Old Harbour by vessels endeavouring to reach the Pier; hence the necessity of an outer harbour, sufficiently spacious to admit a man-of-war at all times. This necessity had for many years been deeply impressed upon the minds of gentlemen of talent and experience. The many fearful wrecks in the bay tended to produce a conviction that no money, within a reasonable limit, should be spared for effecting a spacious and complete harbour. It is an admitted fact that the aspect of entrance to the present harbour, together with its inefficiency in size, have been the sole cause of most of the shipwrecks in the bay. The following melancholy record will serve to shew that it was high time some effort should be made to save life and property.
Dec. 18th, 1790.—On the north point of Salt Island the Charlemont packet, on her passage from Parkgate to Dublin, was lost, when 110 souls perished, owing to the want of a sufficient draught in the Old Harbour.