Sad was thy life, a short and cloudy day,
To cold neglect and penury a prey-

Death, only death thy just reward and claim-
The meed of Genius-AN IMMORTAL NAME:
Like mighty HOMER'S was thy hapless fate,
Scorn'd by the world, and known, alas! too late;
To thee the posthumous applause they pour'd-
When living starv'd thee, and when dead ador'd.

Return, oh muse! to BRISTOL'S matchless sons,
In avarice Dutchmen, and in science Huns;
Say, in their brains what varied passions rule,
What mingled character of knave and fool!

See yon high tower* now leaning on its base,
What mystic rites once filled the sacred place,
Credulity descended in a cloud,

And with strange wonders drew the gaping crowd!
Her fav'rite childrent aid her cause, and fix

Yon church the high scene of God-a'-mighty's tricks.
Lo! LUKINS Comes, and with him comes a train
Of parsons famous for a lack of brain.

With owl-like faces and with raven coats,
Their solemn step, their solemn task denotes !
By exorcisings, prayers, and "rebukings,"
To drive seven sturdy devils out of LUKINS;
High sounds the alarm, the wond'rous tale is told,
The gathering crowd assembles, young and old;
Nor might Credulity an audience fear,

Her slightest tale will call forth thousands here:
Still lives that spirit, which, in former days,
Drew all the city to the fancied gaze;

When father, mother, joined with son and daughter,
To see the conjuror walk upon the water.
Now in loud tumult press the expectant throng,
The sable train moves heavily along ;

They gain the church, wide opes the sacred door,
And the rude mob their mighty numbers pour ;
And now the devil-hunters set to work,
Fierce as Crusaders to attack a Turk ;

Some read, some pray, to end the serious evil,
And some more learn'd, talk Latin to the devil.

Temple Church, where George Lukins was exorcised. + Seven worthy clergymen of this city.

It is a well known fact, that many thousands of the religiously insane inhabitants of this city, assembled in the full expectation of beholding this

miracle.

The baited spirits held the contest long,

But found at last the parsons were too strong:

Then in strange tongues they spoke with wild affright,
And begg'd to make some decent terms of flight.
The holy seven denied the mild request,
But on the foe with double ardour prest,
And drove the demons from the poor possest;
The devils grumbling left their lov'd abode,
And the freed LUKINS thank'd the men of God.

But who can tell where fixed their final doom,
If in the Red Sea, or the river Froome;
Whether they sojurn with the men divine,
Or entered (AS OF OLD!) the herd of swine.
Trade, mighty trade, here holds resistless sway,
And drives the nobler cares of mind away.
To this sole object every effort tends,
And virtue dies and pliant honour bends;
No soft humanities are cherish'd here,
No sympathetic feeling prompts the tear;
No mild urbanity attracts the sight,
No arts of skill or elegant delight;

But sordid wealth inspires the general cry,
And speeds the step, and sharps the eager eye;
Foul as their streets, triumphant meanness sways,
And grov'lling as their mud-compelling drays;
Discordant sounds compose the Babel hum,

'Tis "How goes sugar? What's the price of rum ?"
"What ship's arrived? and how are stocks to-day ?"
"Who's dead? whose broken? and who's run away?"

These constant cares with constant gain requite;
Hence BRISTOL boasts full many a wealthy wight;
Yet not benevolence is here display'd,

No generous impulse warms the sons of trade:
Avarice first taught the golden store to heap,
Her next great lesson is that store to keep.

Amid the mantling gloom which long has spread
Its thick'ning darkness over BRISTOL'S head,
The muse beheld a spark of genius rise,
Like the bright meteor in the midnight skies;
But foe to dulness and her sable train,

The trembling lustre beam'd, but beam'd in vain :
Her votive minions quench'd the rising ray,
And the dark goddess holds unrivall'd sway.

Thus through the series of full many an age,
(Annals of infamy!) her blushing page,
Records alone one solitary name,

To generous virtue dear, and dear to fame;
Benevolence gladden'd at her COLSTON's sight,
And sickening Avarice sought the realms of night,
He fear'd the bright example might inspire,
His chosen children with the gen'rous fire;
But fear not, BRISTOL shall uphold thy state,
Tho' all shall praise him, none shall imitate!

COLSTON deceas'd, now from the dark retreat,
See Avarice welcom'd to his ancient seat;
No secret foe shall rise in his domain,
No voice oppose his universal reign,

But loyal strains the motley crowd shall sing,
Dnlness their queen, and Avarice their king.

Tho' not thy stream in amber waves is roll'd,
Nor like Pactolus flows o'er sands of gold,
Yet rides the rich store o'er the sullen flood,
And wealth comes wafted by its kindred mud.
Nor less is fam'd the bridge, whose arches stride
O'er the dull surface of thy turbid tide,
Since Cotcott first, (who sigh'd to gain a name,
And madly climb'd up half-built spires to fame)
Cross'd o'er the pile with proud triumphant air,
And risk'd his life to make the stupid stare.

But Memory turns from folly's transient sway,
To mark the horrors of a sadder day,
When sacred Justice had the toll to cease;
But opposition chas'd the form of peace-
The hand of power, the rightful claim withstood,
And stain'd the streets with many a victim's blood.†
Still the dread thought the indignant heart appals;
Still from their graves the voice of vengeance calls;
Tho' unrevenged it dies, nor fate, nor time,
Shall blot remembrance of so foul a crime;

It is said that a Mr. G. Cotcott, ambitious of the honour of first paying the toll on the erection of the new bridge, procured himself the privilege of crossing on horseback, when the boards, placed as a temporary scaffold, were scarcely able to support the weight.

The killed and wounded on this fatal day, amounted to upwards of seventy-their names will remain an eternal monument of the infamy of those who ordered the militia to fire; and to the disgrace of the inhabitants who neglected to support an investigation of the cause of so horrid a massacre.

Humanity shall drop the pitying tear,
In pensive sorrow o'er each timeless bier.

Oppression, frequent as the varying hour,
Still marks this mighty self-elected power;
To them the exclusive charter'd powers belong,
"The right" and privilege of doing wrong,
For suffering thousands fear their awful frown,
And fancy terrors in an old red gown.

Sweet Freedom dwells not in these dark domains,
Where crouching Avarice ever hugs its chains,
And heedless, views the violated trust,
Unguarded rights, and murder most unjust;
Meanly submits all evil to endure,

And knows no sorrow while its wealth's secure.

Hail! sons of power, hail! turtle-loving throng,
To whom great BRISTOL and its sons belong,
Still you may keep the path you've long pursued,
You wish to rule them, and they choose you should;
One only care the citizens implore,

Oh! save their pockets," and they ask no more:
Grant but this boon, they fear no other ill,

Gospel them, starve them, murder if you will,
Still shall they kneel, submit to kiss the rod,
And thank the hand that thus protects their God.

TO CORRESPONDENTS.

The correspondents of the LION are requested to keep up their contributions as before. The delay of a week may arise in the insertion of their articles, but not more. The chief feature of the LION for some time to come will be a report of the proceedings of the Infidél mission. Regular bulletins will be sent to London; and we trust that we shall every week have something interesting to communicate. The mission will be kept up to a full challenge of the Christian ministry in and throughout the country.

Printed and Published by RICHARD CARLILE, 62, Fleet-street, 'where all Communications, post-paid, or free of expense, are requested to be left.

The Lion.

No. 22. VOL. 3.] LONDON, Friday, May 29, 1829. [PRICE 6d.

INFIDEL MISSION: FIRST BULLETIN: BANNER OF INFIDELITY UNFURLED IN THE UNIVERSITY OF CAMBRIDGE: THE UNIVERSITY CHALLENGED: IT DECLINES THE CONTEST: RESOR RO PERSECUTION AND PROCLAIMS ITS DEFECTS: GLORIOUS TRIUMPH FOR INFIDELITY!

Intidel Head-Quarters, Cambridge,
May 24, 1829.

WE arrived in Cambridge, from London, after a pleasant ride of six hours, about two o'clock on Thursday, the 21st inst. The people of the Sun Hotel, perceiving nothing but the better part of mankind in our faces, were all attention, and wished us to remain with them. We declined this for more than one night, walked abroad, and took a lodging at a print-seller's shop in the Crescent. We were soon recognized by some of the Collegians, who had been in our company in London, and the news of our arrival quickly passed through the town and University. At seven o'clock, we went to church, to hear a sermon from the Rev. Mr. Simeon. his is an old gentleman, who, to some other excesses, adds, that of piety, and constitutes, under the name of Simeonites, the evangelical part of the Established Church in Cambridge. For forty years, he has represented this figure of evangelism, and has mannered and preached himself into contempt, among the better or more intelligent part of Cambridge, and into a maniacal adoration, among the weak and diseased. He is connected with a curious point in Mr. Taylor's history. Printed and Published by R. CARLILE, 62, Flect Street.