'Nought loves another as itself Nor venerates another so Not is it possible to Thought A greater than itself to know. 'And Father, how can I love you Or any of my brothers more? I love you like the little bird That picks up crumbs around the door.' The Priest sat by and heard the child; In trembling zeal he seiz'd his hair; He led him by his little coat And all admir'd the Priestly care. And standing on the altar high, 'Lo, what a fiend is here!' said he, 'One who sets reason up for judge Of our most holy Mystery.' The weeping child could not be heard, The weeping parents wept in vain; They strip'd him to his little shirt, And bound him in an iron chain;<]br> And burn'd him in a holy place, Where many had been burn'd before. The weeping parents wept in vain. Are such things done on Albion's shore?