My soul is free as ambient air, Although my baser part's immewed, 75 Anon. CII A ROYAL LAMENTATION. Great Monarch of the world, from whose power springs The potency and power of [earthly] kings, Record the royal woe my suffering sings. Nature and law by thy divine decree, With it the sacred sceptre, purple robe, 5 The fiercest furies, that do daily tread ΙΟ With my own power my majesty they wound, 15 They promise to erect my royal stem, To make me great, to' advance my diadem, My life they prize at such a slender rate, 20 Felons obtain more privilege than I; They are allowed to answer ere they die: But, sacred Saviour, with thy words I woo Such as Thou know'st do not know what they do. Augment my patience, nullify my hate, Preserve my issue, and inspire my mate; 25 Yet, though we perish, bless this Church and State. 30 CIII King Charles the First. HORATIAN ODE UPON CROMWELL'S RETURN The forward youth that would appear, Nor in the shadows sing 'Tis time to leave the books in dust, The corslet of the hall. So restless Cromwell could not cease But through adventurous war And like the three-forked lightning first, His fiery way divide: For 'tis all one to courage high The emulous, or enemy; And with such, to enclose Is more than to oppose. I 5 ΙΟ 15 20 Then burning through the air he went, And Cæsar's head at last Did through his laurels blast. 'Tis madness to resist or blame The face of angry heaven's flame; Who, from his private gardens, where (As if his highest plot To plant the bergamot,) Could by industrious valour climb Though Justice against Fate complain, And plead the ancient Rights in vain- As men are strong or weak. Nature, that hateth emptiness, Allows of penetration less, And therefore must make room, What field of all the Civil War Where his were not the deepest scar? Where, twining subtle fears with hope, He wove a net of such a scope That Charles himself might chase 25 30 135 40 45 50 That thence the royal actor borne While round the armèd bands He nothing common did or mean But with his keener eye 55 60 The axe's edge did try; To vindicate his helpless right; But bowed his comely head Down, as upon a bed. -This was that memorable hour Which first assured the forced power: Nor called the Gods, with vulgar spite, 65 To see themselves in one year tamed: 75 He to the Commons' feet presents A Kingdom for his first year's rents, His fame, to make it theirs: And has his sword and spoils ungirt To lay them at the Public's skirt. Falls heavy from the sky, 85 90 She, having killed, no more does search But on the next green bough to perch, 95 -What may not then our Isle presume, While victory his crest does plume? What may not others fear, If thus he crowns each year! As Cæsar he, ere long, to Gaul, To Italy an Hannibal, And to all states not free Shall climacteric be. The Pict no shelter now shall find But from this valour, sad Happy, if in the tufted brake The English hunter him mistake, The Caledonian deer. But thou, the War's and Fortune's son, March indefatigably on; And for the last effect Still kept the sword erect: 100 105 110 115 |