Of them that stood encircling his despair, He heard some friendly words, but knew not what they were. For now, to mourn their judge and child, arrives And in their deaths had not divided been. 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 His descant wildly thus begun, For by my wrongs, and by my wrath, (That fires yon heaven with storms of death) And we shall share, my Christian boy, The foeman's blood, th' avenger's joy. "But thee, my flower, whose breath was given By milder genii o'er the deep, The spirits of the white man's heaven Nor will the Christian host, Nor will thy father's spirit, grieve She was the rainbow to thy sight - "To-morrow let us do or die! But when the bolt of death is hurled, Seek we thy once-loved home? The hand is gone that cropped its flowers; Its echoes and its empty tread Would sound like voices from the dead. "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 Then seek we not their camp; for there "But hark, the trump! - to-morrow thou Amidst the clouds that round us roll: He bids my soul for battle thirst: 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 Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favors! Never to hope again. Enter CROMWELL, amazedly. Why, how now, Cromwell? Crom. I have no power to speak, sir. Wol. What, amazed 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. A peace above all earthly dignities A still and quiet conscience. The king has cured me,I humbly thank his grace, and from these shoulders, These ruined pillars, out of pity, taken A load would sink a navy too much honor. O, 'tis a burden, Cromwell, 'tis a burden, Too heavy for a man that hopes for heaven. 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 ; But he's a learned man. May he continue For truth's sake, and his conscience; that his bones, Crom. That Cranmer is returned with welcome, 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 Cromwell, The king has gone beyond me; all my glories, In that one woman, I have lost forever. 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; To be thy lord and master. Seek the king; That sun, I pray, may never set! I have told him (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 |