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Of them that stood encircling his despair,
He heard some friendly words, but knew not what they
For now, to mourn their judge and child, arrives
Was scarce one tearless eye amidst the crowd: Stern warriors, resting on their swords, were seen To veil their eyes, as passed each much-loved shroud While woman's softer soul in woe dissolved aloud.
Then mournfully the parting bugle bid
Its farewell, o'er the grave of worth and truth; Prone to the dust, afflicted Waldegrave hid
His face on earth; — him watched, in gloomy ruth,
He watched, beneath its folds, each burst that came
"And I could weep," th' Oneyda chief
For by my wrongs, and by my wrath,
(That fires yon heaven with storms of death)
And we shall share, my Christian boy,
"But thee, my flower, whose breath was given
Nor will the Christian host,
Of her who loved thee most:
"To-morrow let us do or die!
But when the bolt of death is hurled,
Seek we thy once-loved home?
"Or shall we cross yon mountains blue, Whose streams my kindred nation quaffed, And by my side, in battle true,
A thousand warriors drew the shaft? Ah! there, in desolation cold, The desert serpent dwells alone, Where grass o'ergrows each mouldering bone, And stones themselves, to ruin grown, Like me are death-like old.
Then seek we not their camp; for there
"But hark, the trump!
In glory's fires shalt dry thy tears:
Amidst the clouds that round us roll:
Because I may not stain with grief
Reflections of Cardinal Wolsey after his Fall from the Favor of Henry VIII. SHAKSPEARE.
Wol. FAREWELL, a long farewell, to all my greatness! This is the state of man: To-day he puts forth The tender leaves of hope; to-morrow blossoms, And bears his blushing honors thick upon him; The third day comes a frost, a killing frost,
And when he thinks, good easy man, full surely
His greatness is a-ripening-nips his root;
Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favors!
Enter CROMWELL, amazedly.
Why, how now, Cromwell?
Crom. I have no power to speak, sir.
At my misfortunes? can thy spirit wonder
A great man should decline? Nay, an you weep,
Crom. How does your grace?
Wol. Why, well;
Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell.
I know myself now; and I feel within me
A peace above all earthly dignities
A still and quiet conscience. The king has cured me,
Crom. I am glad your grace has made that right use of it. Wol. I hope I have. I am able now, methinks,
(Out of a fortitude of soul I feel,)
To endure more miseries, and greater far,
Than my weak-hearted enemies dare offer.
Crom. The heaviest, and the worst,
Is your displeasure with the king.
Wol. God bless him!
Crom. The next is, that Sir Thomas More is chosen Lord chancellor, in your place.
Wol. That's somewhat sudden;
May he continue
But he's a learned man.
Crom. That Cranmer is returned with welcome, Installed lord archbishop of Canterbury.
Wol. That's news, indeed.
Crom. Last, that the Lady Anne,
Whom the king hath in secrecy long married,
Only about her coronation.
Wol. There was the weight that pulled me down! O
.The king has gone beyond me; all my glories,
No sun shall ever usher forth mine honors,
Or gild again the noble troops that waited
Upon my smiles. Go, get thee from me, Cromwell;
(I know his noble nature) not to let
Thy hopeful service perish too. Good Cromwell,
Crom. O my lord,
Must I then leave you? Must I needs forego