Then uprose their commander, and spake from the steps of the altar,
Holding aloft in his hands, with its seals, the royal commission. 
“You have convened this day,” he said, “by his Majesty’s orders. 
Clement and kind has he been; but how you have answered his kindness,
Let your own hearts reply!  To my natural make and my temper
Painful the task is I do, which to you I know must be grievous. 
Yet must I bow and obey, and deliver the will of our monarch;
Namely, that all your lands, and dwellings, and cattle of all kinds
Forfeited be to the crown; and that you yourselves from this province
Be transported to other lands.  God grant you may dwell there
Ever as faithful subjects, a happy and peaceable people! 
Prisoners now I declare you; for such is his Majesty’s pleasure!”

As, when the air is serene in the sultry solstice of summer,
Suddenly gathers a storm, and the deadly sling of the hailstones
Beats down the farmer’s corn in the field and shatters his windows,
Hiding the sun, and strewing the ground with thatch from the house roofs,
Bellowing fly the herds, and seek to break their inclosure;
So on the hearts of the people descended the words of the speaker. 
Silent a moment they stood in speechless wonder, and then rose
Louder and ever louder a wail of sorrow and anger,
And, by one impulse moved, they madly rushed to the doorway.

Vain was the hope of escape; and cries and fierce imprecations
Rang through the house of prayer; and high o’er the heads of the others
Rose, with his arms uplifted, the figure of Basil the blacksmith,
As, on a stormy sea, a spar is tossed by the billows. 
Flushed was his face and distorted with passion; and wildly he shouted,—­
“Down with the tyrants of England! we never have sworn them allegiance! 
Death to these foreign soldiers, who seize on our homes and our harvests!”
More he fain would have said, but the merciless hand of a soldier
Smote him upon the mouth, and dragged him down to the pavement.

In the midst of the strife and tumult of angry contention,
Lo! the door of the chancel opened, and Father Felician
Entered, with serious mien, and ascended the steps of the alter. 
Raising his reverend hand, with a gesture he awed into silence
All that clamorous throng; and thus he spake to his people;
Deep were his tones and solemn; in accents measured and mournful
Spake he, as, after the tocsin’s alarum, distinctly the clock strikes.

“What is this that ye do, my children? what madness has seized you? 
Forty years of my life have I labored among you, and taught you,
Not in word alone, but in deed, to love one another! 
Is this the fruit of my toils, of my vigils and prayers and privations? 
Have you so soon forgotten all the lessons of love and forgiveness? 
This is the house of the Prince of Peace, and would you profane it