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Thy works, and alms, and all thy good endeavour,
Stay'd not behind, nor in the grave were trod;
But, as Faith pointed with her golden rod,
Follow'd thee up to joy and bliss for ever.
Love led them on; and Faith, who knew them best
Thy handmaids, clad them o'er with purple

And azure wings, that up they flew so drest And spake the truth of thee on glorious themes Before the Judge; who thenceforth bid thee rest, And drink thy fill of pure immortal streams.


FAIRFAX, whose name in arms through Europe rings,

Filling each mouth with envy or with praise, And all her jealous monarchs with amaze And rumours loud, that daunt remotest kings; Thy firm unshaken virtue ever brings

Victory home, though new rebellions raise Their hydra heads, and the false North displays Her broken league to imp their servant wings. O, yet a nobler task awaits thy hand,

(For what can war but endless war still breed?) Till truth and right from violence be freed,'" And Public faith clear'd from the shameful brand Of public fraud. In vain doth Valour bleed, While Avarice and Rapine share the land.


CROMWELL, our chief of men, who through a cloud

Not of war only, but detractions rude, b
Guided by faith and matchless fortitude, b


To peace and truth thy glorious way hast plough'd, And on the neck of crowned Fortune proua [ed; Hast rear'd God's trophies, and his work pursuWhile Darwen stream, with blood of Scots imbued,

And Dunbar field resounds thy praises loud, And Worcester's laureat wreath. Yet much remains To conquer still; Peace hath her victories d No less renown'd than War: new foes arise d Threatening to bind our souls with secular chains. Help us to save free conscience from the paw Of hireling wolves, whose gospel is their maw. e



VANE, young in years, but in sage counsel old,
Than whom a better senator ne'er held

The bounds of either sword to thee we owe:
Therefore on thy firm hand religion leans
In peace, and reckons thee her eldest son.


The helm of Rome, when gowns, not arms, reThe fierce Epirot and the African bold; [pell'd Whether to settle peace, or to unfold

The drift of hollow states hard to be spell'd; Then to advise how War may, best upheld, Move by her two main nerves, iron and gold, In all her equipage: besides to know

Both spiritual power and civil, what each means, What severs each, thou hast learn'd, which few have done:


AVENGE, O Lord, thy slaughter'd saints, whose bones Lie scatter'd on the Alpine mountains cold; Ev'n them who kept thy truth so pure of old, When all our fathers worshipp'd stocks and stones, Forget not: in thy book record their groans

Who were thy sheep, and in their ancient fold Slain by the bloody Piedmontese that roll'd Mother with infant down the rocks. Their moans The vales redoubled to the hills, and they

To Heaven. Their martyr'd blood and ashes sow O'er all the Italian fields, where still doth sway The triple tyrant; that from these may grow

A hundred fold, who, having learn'd thy way, Early may fly the Babylonian woe.


WHEN I consider how my light is spent

Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide, And that one talent which is death to hide, Lodged with me useless, though my soul more To serve therewith my Maker, and present [bent My true account, lest He, returning, chide; Doth God exact day-labour, light denied? I fondly ask: but Patience, to prevent That murmur, soon replies;-God doth not need Either man's work or his own gifts; who best Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best: his Is kingly; thousands at his bidding speed, [state And post o'er land and ocean without rest: They also serve who only stand and wait.


LAWRENCE, of virtuous father virtuous son,
Now that the fields are dank, and ways are mire,
Where shall we sometimes meet, and by the fire
Help waste a sullen day, what may be won
From the hard season gaining? Time will run
On smoother, till Favonius reinspire

The frozen earth, and clothe in fresh attire The lily and rose, that neither sow'd nor spun. What neat repast shall feast us, light and choice, Of Attic taste, with wine, whence we may rise To hear the lute well touch'd, or artful voice Warble immortal notes and Tuscan air?

He who of those delights can judge, and spare
To interpose them oft, is not unwise.


CYRIACK, whose grandsire on the royal bench
Of British Themis, with no mean applause
Pronounced, and in his volumes taught, our laws,
Which others at their bar so often wrench;
To-day deep thoughts resolve with me to drench
In mirth, that, after, no repenting draws;
Let Euclid rest, and Archimedes pause,
And what the Swede intends, and what the French.
To measure life learn thou betimes, and know

Toward solid good what leads the nearest way; For other things mild Heaven a time ordains, And disapproves that care, though wise in show, That with superfluous burden loads the day, And, when God sends a cheerful hour, refrains.



CYRIACK, this three years day these eyes, though
To outward view, of blemish or of spot,
Bereft of light, their seeing have forgot;
Nor to their idle orbs doth sight appear
Of sun, or moon, or star, throughout the year,
Or man, or woman. Yet I argue not
Against Heaven's hand or will, nor bate a jot
Of heart or hope; but still bear up and steer
Right onward. What supports me, dost thou ask?
The conscience, friend, to have lost them over
In liberty's defence, my noble task, [plied

Of which all Europe rings from side to side.
This thought might lead me through the
world's vain mask

Content though blind, had I no better guide.


METHOUGHT I saw my late espoused saint

Brought to me, like Alcestis, from the grave, Whom Jove's great son to her glad husband gave,

Rescued from death by force, though pale and faint.
Mine, as whom wash'd from spot of child-bed
Purification in the old Law did save, [taint
And such, as yet once more I trust to have
Full sight of her in Heaven without restraint;—
Came, vested all in white, pure as her mind:

Her face was veil'd; yet to my fancied sight Love, sweetness, goodness, in her person shined

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