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During the persecution of the Huguenots in France, soon after the revocation of the edict of Nantz, one of their ministers, possessed of great learning and piety, having witnessed the demolition of his own Church at Montpelier, was induced by the solicitations of his people, to preach to them in the night, upon its ruins. For this offence, he was condemned to be broken on the wheel.

him on the ruins,—not of fanes With ivy mantled, which the touch of time Hath slowly crumbled,—but amid the wreck Of his own temple, by infuriate hands In shapeless masses, and rude fragments strown Wide o'er the trampled turf. Serene he stood, A pale, sad beauty on his youthful brow, With eyes uprais'd, as if his stricken soul Fled from material things. Where was the spire That solemn through those chestnut trees look'd forth? The tower, the arch, the altar whence he bless'd A kneeling throng? the font where infancy Rais'd in his arms to God was consecrate, An incense-breathing bud? Not on such themes Dar'd his fond thoughts to dwell, but firm in faith He lifted up his voice, and spake of Heaven Where desolations come not. Midnight hung Dreary and dense around, and the lone lamp That o'er his Bible stream'd, hung tremulous Beneath the fitful gale. There, resting deep Upon the planted staff, were aged men, The grave's white tokens in their scatter'd hair,