Lives of John Wicliff, and of the Most Eminent of His Disciples e-bog

Whilst the greatest effort has been made to ensure the quality of this text, due to the historical nature of this content, in some rare cases there may be minor issues with legibility. In flocks unnumbered. Like a pitchy cloud, Birds of ill omen round the fabric fly, Here build their nests, and nurse their callow brood,. And scare the timorous soul with boeding cry. Here Surzasrn'wn holds her dreary reign, And her lip-labour'd orisons she plies In Tongue unknown, when morn bedews the plain, Or evening skirts with gold the western skies; To the dumb flock she bends, or sculptur'd wall, And many a cross she makes, and many a bead lets fall. Near tothe dome a magic pair reside Prompt to deceive, and practis'd to confound; Here hood-wint Ignorance is seen to bide, Stretching in darksome cave along the ground; No object dawns upon his stupid eyes, Nor voice articulate arrests his ears, Save when beneath the moon pale spectres rise, And haunt his soul with visionary fears.