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book trampled in the dirt. But for the Queen.

My beloved lord, rainbow. It moved as the sun moved, Have you not noted that the Fool of late and ... until the top of the Tower ... of Has lost his careless mirth, and that a cloud through its left-hand tip, and

his words Lambeth Palace look as dark as a rock Sound like the echoes of our saddest before the other. Methought I saw a fears? crown figured upon one tip, and a mitre What can it mean? I should be loth on the other. So, as I had heard trea

to think were found where the rainbow Some factious slave had tutored him. quenches its points upon the earth, I set King:

Oh, no! off, and at the Tower- But I shall He is but Occasion's pupil. Partly 'tis not tell your Majesty what I found close That our minds piece the vacant intervals to the closet-window on which the rain- of his wild words with their own bow had glimmered.

fashioning, King. Speak: I will make my Fool As in the imagery of summer clouds, my conscience.

Or coals of the winter fire, idlers find Archy. Then conscience is a fool. — The perfect shadows of their teeming I saw there a cat caught in a rat-trap. thoughts: I heard the rats squeak behind the wains. And partly, that the terrors of the time cots: it seemed to me that the very mice Are sown by wandering Rumour in all were consulting on the manner of her spirits; death.

And in the lightest and the least, may Queen. Archy is shrewd and bitter.

best Archy. Like the season,

Be seen the current of the coming wind. so blow the winds.—But at the other Queen. Your brain is overwrought end of the rainbow, where the gray rain with these deep thoughts. was tempered along the grass and leaves Come, I will sing to you; let us go try by a tender interfusion of violet and These airs from Italy; and, as we pass gold in the meadows beyond Lambeth, The gallery, we'll decide where that what think you that I found instead of Correggio a mitre ?

Shall hang--the Virgin Mother King. Vane's wits perhaps.

With her child, born the King of heaven Archy. Something as vain. I saw and earth, a gross vapour hovering in a stinking Whose reign is men's salvation. And ditch over the carcass of a dead ass, some

you shall see rotten rags, and broken dishes—the A cradled miniature of yourself asleep, wrecks of what once administered to the Stamped on the heart by never-erring stuffing-out and the ornament of a worm

love; of worms. His Grace of Canterbury Liker than any Vandyke ever made, expects to enter the New Jerusalem A pattern to the unborn age of thee, some Palm Sunday in triumph on the Over whose sweet beauty I have wept ghost of this ass.

for joy Queen. Enough, enough! Go desire A thousand times, and now should weep Lady Jane

for sorrow, She place my lute, together with the Did I not think that after we were dead music

Our fortunes would spring high in him, Mari received last week from Italy,

and that In my boudoir, and- [Exit ARCHY. The cares we waste upon our heavy King

I'll go in.


Would make it light and glorious as a Or I think worth acceptance at your wreath

hands, Of Heaven's beams for his dear innocent Scorn, mutilation, and imprisonment. brow.

Even as my Master did, King Dear Henrietta !

Until Heaven's kingdom shall descend

on earth,
Or earth be like a shadow

the light SCENE III. -— The Star CHAMBER. Of heaven absorbed-some few tumulLAUD, JUXON, STRAFFORD, and

tuous years others, as Judges. PRYNNE as

a Will pass, and leave no wreck of what Prisoner, and then BasTWICK.


His will whose will is power. Laud. Bring forth the prisoner Bast- Laud. Officer, take the prisoner from wick: let the clerk

the bar, Recite his sentence.

And be his tongue slit for his insolence. Clerk.

“ That he pay five Bastwick. While this hand holds a thousand

penPounds to the king, lose both his ears, Laud.

Be his hands be branded


Stop! With red-hot iron on the cheek and Forbear, my lord! The tongue, which forehead,

now can speak And be imprisoned within Lancaster No terror, would interpret, being dumb, Castle

Heaven's thunder to our harm; . During the pleasure of the Court.” And hands, which now write only their Laud.

Prisoner, own shame, If you have aught to say wherefore this with bleeding stumps might sign our

sentence Should not be put into effect, now speak. Laud. Much more such “mercy” Juxon. If you have aught to plead

among men would be, in mitigation,

Did all the ministers of Heaven's revenge Speak.

Flinch thus from earthly retribution. I Bastwick. Thus, my lords. If, Could suffer what I would inflict. like the prelates, I

[Exit BASTWICK guarded. Were an invader of the royal power,

Bring up A public scorner of the word of God, The Lord Bishop of Lincoln. — Profane, idolatrous, popish, superstitious, (To Strafford'). Know you not Impious in heart and in tyrannic act, That, in distraining for ten thousand Void of wit, honesty, and temperance;

pounds If Satan were my lord, as theirs, -ourGod Upon his books and furniture at Lincoln, Pattern of all I should avoid to do; Were found these scandalous and sediWere I an enemy of my God and King

tious letters And of good men, as ye are;-I should Sent from one Osbaldistone, who is fled? merit

I speak it not as touching this poor Your fearful state and gilt prosperity,

person; Which, when ye wake from the last But of the office which should make it sleep, shall turn

holy, To cowls and robes of everlasting fire. Were it as vile as it was ever spotless. But, as I am, I bid ye grudge me not Mark too, my lord, that this expression The only earthly favour ye can yield,


blood away.

His Majesty, if I misinterpret not. Sailing athwart St. Margaret's.
Enter Bishop Williams guarded. Hampden.

Hail, fleet herald Strafford. 'Twere politic and just of tempest! that rude pilot who shall that Williams taste

guide The bitter fruit of his connection with Hearts free as his, to realms as pure as The schismatics. But you, my Lord thee, Archbishop,

Beyond the shot of tyranny, Who owed your first promotion to his Beyond the webs of that swoln spider . . favour,

Beyond the curses, calumnies, and lies Who grew beneath his smile-

Of atheist priests!

And thou Laud,

Would therefore beg Fair star, whose beam lies on the wide The office of his judge from this High Atlantic, Court,

Athwart its zones of tempest and of calm, That it shall seem, even as it is, that I, Bright as the path to a beloved home, In my assumption of this sacred robe, Oh, light us to the isles of the evening Have put aside all worldly preserence,

land ! All sense of all distinction of all persons, Like floating Edens cradled in the All thoughts but of the service of the glimmer Church.

Or sunset, through the distant mist of Bishop of Lincoln !

Williams. Peace, proud hierarch! Touched by departing hope, they gleam!
I know my sentence, and I own it just. lone regions,
Thou wilt repay me less than I deserve, Where power's poor dupes and victims
In stretching to the utmost

yet have never
Propitiated the savage fear of kings

With purest blood of noblest hearts; SCENE IV.-HAMPDEN, PYM, CROM

whose dew

Is yet unstained with tears of those who WELL, his Daughter, and SIR



To weep each day the wrongs on which Hampden. England, farewell! thou it dawns;

who hast been my cradle, Whose sacred silent air owns yet no Shalt never be my dungeon or my grave !

echo I held what I inherited in thee, Of formal blasphemies; nor impious As pawn for that inheritance of freedom

rites Which thou hast sold for thy despoiler's Wrest man's free worship, from the God smile:

who loves, How can I call thee England, or my To the poor worm who envies us his country?

love! Does the wind hold ?

Receive, thou young

of Paradise, Vane.

The vanes sit steady These exiles from the old and sinsul Upon the Abbey towers. The silver

world! lightnings Of the evening star, spite of the city's This glorious clime, this firmament, smoke,

whose lights Tell that the north wind reigns in the Dart mitigated influence through their

veil Mark too that flock of fleecy-winged Of pale blue atmosphere; whose tears clouds

keep green

upper air.

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The pavement of this moist all-feeding The frozen wind crept on above,

The freezing stream below.
This vaporous horizon, whose dim round
Is bastioned by the circumfluous sea,

“There was no leaf upon the forest bare, Repelling invasion from the sacred

No flower upon the ground, towers,

And little motion in the air
Presses upon me like a dungeon's grate,

Except the mill-wheel's sound.”
A low dark roof, a damp and narrow wall.
The boundless universe
Becomes a cell too narrow for the soul
That owns no master; while the loath-

THE TRIUMPH OF LIFE liest ward Of this wide prison, England, is a nest


a spirit hastening to his

task Of cradling peace built on the mountain tops,—

Of glory and of good, the Sun sprang To which the eagle spirits of the free,

forth Which range through heaven and earth, Rejoicing in his splendour, and the and scorn the storm

mask Of time, and gaze upon the light of

Of darkness fell from the awakened truth,

Earth Return to brood on thoughts that cannot The smokeless altars of the mountain

die And cannot be repelled.

Flamed above crimson clouds, and at Like eaglets floating in the heaven of

the birth time, They soar above their quarry, and shall of light, the Ocean's orison arose, stoop

To which the birds tempered their Through palaces and temples thunder

matin lay. proof,

All flowers in field or forest which un

close SCENE V.

Their trembling eyelids to the kiss of Archy. I'll go live under the ivy day, that overgrows the terrace, and count Swinging their censers in the element, the tears shed on its old roots as the With orient incense lit by the new ray [wind) plays the song of

Burned slow and inconsumably, and “A widow bird sate mourning

sent Upon a wintry bough.”

Their odorous sighs up to the smiling [Sings]

air; Heigho! the lark and the owl!

And, in succession due, did continent, One flies the morning, and one lulls the night :

Isle, ocean, and all things that in them Only the nightingale, poor fond soul, Sings like the fool through darkness The form and character of mortal mould, and light.

Rise as the Sun their father rose, to

bear “A widow bird sate mourning for her love

Their portion of the toil, which he of Upon a wintry bough;




Took as his own, and then imposed on Thick strewn with summer dust, and a them :

great stream But I, whom thoughts which must re- of people there was hurrying to and main untola


Numerous as gnats upon the evening Ilad kept as wakeful as the stars that

gleam, gem The cone of night, now they were laid | All hastening onward, yet none seemed asleep

to know Stretched my faint limbs beneath the Whither he went, or whence he came, hoary stem

or why

He made one of the multitude, and so Which an old chestnut flung athwart the steep

Was borne amid the crowd, as through Of a green Apennine: before me fled

the sky The night; behind me rose the day; One of the million leaves of summer's

the deep Was at my feet, and Heaven above my Old age and youth, manhood and inhead,

fancy When a strange trance over my fancy grew

Mixed in one mighty torrent did appear, Which was not slumber, for the shade Some flying from the thing they feared, it spread

and some Was so transparent, that the scene came

Seeking the object of another's fear; through

And others as with steps towards the As clear as when a veil of light is drawn

tomb, O'er evening hills they glimmer; and I

Pored on the trodden worms that crawled knew

beneath, That I had felt the freshness of that and others mournfully within the gloom

day Bathed in the same cold dew my brow Of their own shadow walked and called and hair,

it death; And sate as thus upon that slope of And some fled from it as it were a lawn

ghost, Under the self-same bough, and heard | Half fainting in the affliction of vain

breath: The birds, the fountains and the ocean

But more, with motions which each hold

other crost, Sweet talk in music through the en

Pursued or shunned the shadows the amoured air,

clouds threw, And then a vision on my brain was Or birds within the noonday ether lost, rolled.

Upon that path where flowers never As in that trance of wondrous thought grew, I lay,

And, weary with vain toil and faint for This was the tenour of my waking thirst, dream:

Heard not the fountains, whose melodiMethought I sate beside a public way

ous dew

as there

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