xtending 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]

Then, as the charm increases, he continues in a feebler voice:

"Curse on the tempter's art! that heathenish