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BOUND BY 
 
 H. SMART, 
 U XB RIDGE 
 
 BERKELEY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 CALIFORNIA 
 
E: PLAINT OP FREEDOJV\ 
 ) I 
 
 8 
 
TO 
 
 THE MEMORY OF 
 
 MILTON 
 
 728 
 
 953 
 
 Lie,; 
 -f *< 
 
THOU ! our England s Most Divine 
 Forgive thy liege., who sitting here 
 In the shadow of thy sepulchre 
 With feeble voice would echo thine. 
 
 Who dares Methought thy very clay 
 
 Might tune the thinnest pipe of grafs, 
 To tell the free winds as they pafs 
 
 How England lets thy grave decay. 
 
 How o er it things abhor d of light 
 Crawl hideously; and worms obscene ; 
 And daily tramplings of the Mean 
 
 Would hide the epitaph of Might. 
 
 Thy prophet-mantle who may wear ? 
 Yet from thy car of splendour throw 
 One spark on me : my Song should flow 
 
 Volcano-voiced^ for all to hear. 
 
REVOLT his storm-flag hath unfurl d, 
 And New and Old (like giant foes 
 Who, tired of distant threatenings, close) 
 With desperate grapplings shake the world. 
 
 And thunder-voices rend the air, 
 
 For God and Right, for Elder Wrong : 
 The clangour of a battle-song 
 
 Flung heavenward in the lightnings glare. 
 
 And Change leaps like a springtide o er 
 The landmarks of the ancient sway : 
 The fierce waves hunger for their prey ; 
 
 And monarchs tremble at their roar. 
 
 Their echoes break upon our coast 
 The isle that Freedom loved so well ; 
 But stir not Freedom s Sentinel, 
 
 Asleep on his neglected post. 
 
The watchman sleepeth, and the lire 
 Of Freedom dwindles at his side, 
 The beacon,, in old days espied 
 
 By farthest lands, will soon expire. 
 
 He sleeps as life was all forgot, 
 And lower, lower sinks the flame ; 
 And war-cries of his youthful fame 
 
 Peal in his dreams, but stir him not. 
 
 He sleeps, though nations shout his name ; 
 The sea-winds, gathering far and near, 
 Shriek vainly in his drowsy ear ; 
 
 And lower, lower sinks the flame. 
 
 The storm is hush d a breathing-space, 
 And Freedom s question cleaves the gale 
 Ho, Saxon England ! canst thou fail ? 
 
 Shall younger warriors take thy place ? 
 
Of old my name had been a spell 
 
 To rouse thee from profoundest trance : 
 The shadow of a winged lance 
 
 Had warn d thy slumber, ere it fell. 
 
 Then blazed upon thy haughtiest cliffs 
 
 My fires, reflected in the tide 
 
 Which gulf d the Armada s lofty pride, 
 Scatter d before our English skiffs. 
 
 Yet higher soar d the flame divine, 
 Whose rays illumined distant lands, 
 When Milton utter d my commands, 
 
 And Cromwell set his foot by mine. 
 
 But now no beacon marks thy shore ; 
 The old undaunted soul is fled : 
 White Land ! canst thou be pale with dread 
 
 That Freedom needeth thee once more ? 
 
Why tarriest thou ? Till sting of pain 
 Excite thy tamed Berserkir rage ; 
 Or till our foe cast down a gage 
 
 O O 
 
 Not even thy strength can lift again ? 
 
 What waitest thou ? Till Cofsack feet 
 Spur thy slow courage ; till the war 
 Our sires had led to Trafalgar 
 
 Back desperately from street to street r 
 
 Till London croucheth to its doom : 
 
 When strangers, stepping through our walls, 
 Chaunt French Te-Deums in Saint-Paul s, 
 
 And pile their arms on Nelson s tomb P 
 
 What sloth of heart, or brain, or limb, 
 
 What count of fears, what doubt of Right, 
 Hath hid thy spirit in this night, 
 
 Whose clouds thy starriest honour dim ? 
 
Can Wickliffe s heirs permit the Pope ? 
 
 May Cromwell s lieges court the Tsar ? 
 
 Or Alfred s lineage shrink from war, 
 With shameful peace for only hope ? 
 
 And yet, thy sword a liar s tongue, 
 
 Thy highest faith some trick of trade, 
 What marvel England s name is made 
 
 A synonym for Coward Wrong ? 
 
 The land that boldly judged a king, 
 And slew the traitor for his crimes, 
 Now stoopeth to the poorest mimes 
 
 Of Tyranny, an abject thing. 
 
 No wonder that thou darest not pile 
 
 My beacon-fire : twould light the world 
 To see the hydra-slavery curl d 
 
 In thine own heart, Unhappy Isle ! 
 
The town is thick with loathsome graves ; 
 Yon fence, that girds a thousand fields, 
 Shuts out the serf, their harvest yields 
 
 No harvest unto landlefs slaves. 
 
 The weaver starveth at his loom ; 
 
 The reaper faints for lack of bread ; 
 
 White Age may no where lay its head ; 
 Decrepid Childhood hath no bloom. 
 
 Q English Girl, unsex d with toil ! 
 O English Matron, gaunt and wild, 
 That starest on thy strangled child, 
 
 And there is none to loose the coil ! 
 
 And O thou Son and Sire of Woes, 
 
 Whose steps are shadow d by Despair, 
 Thou palsied Beggar, trampled where 
 
 Our Hampden grappled with his foes 1 
 
The circled honour and the place 
 Of Genius stolen by the Mean : 
 What poor weak parody of a Queen 
 
 Insults the Elizabethan race ! 
 
 A peerage, -traffic s motley throng ! 
 
 A Church, where prelates build their styes 
 And courts of law, where Jefferies 
 
 Remains a precedent for Wrong ! 
 
 And in the halls where Vane was heard 
 Some rascal Shopman, drunken-brave, 
 Babbling of State, while Fool and Knave 
 
 Applaud a lie in every word ! 
 
 A People : thousands crowd the streets, 
 Exclaiming, Freedom ! let thy grace 
 Be given us in the market-place, 
 
 Where slave his fellow-coward meets ! 
 
So realms are colonized with thieves, 
 
 Despite the moss-grown hearths at home ; 
 And starved men through the bleak world roam. 
 
 That native fields may fatten beeves. 
 
 New chapels built, new schools endow d, 
 Of jails or hospitals no lack : 
 Yet evermore the Poor Man s back 
 
 Endures the cross and vulture-goad. 
 
 Yet, with the gift of parrot tongues, 
 
 Priests prate of heaven, and earth a hell ; 
 Or preach to Outrage, It is well ! 
 c God s luck to Villainy belongs. 
 
 And Patriots by snug parlour fires 
 
 Dream of their pleasant oaken wreaths, 
 And well-earn d apoplectic deaths, 
 c In memory of heroic sires. 
 
Was it for this in Freedom s smile 
 
 Thy childhood grew robust and strong 
 Our forest-fastnefses among 
 
 When baffled Caesar fled the isle ? 
 
 Was it for this that I prepared 
 
 Thy youth in many an arduous fight ? 
 For this, ere thou hadst reach d thy height, 
 
 Against a king thine arm was bared ? 
 
 Invoke the ghosts of buried days, 
 
 To show thee what thy life should be, 
 Thy former self rebuking thee, 
 
 If thou darest bide a hero s graze ! 
 
 Like him who dead, in fear flung down, 
 By touching but the prophet s corse, 
 Revived, so gain thou jiving force 
 
 From out the tomb of old renown ! 
 
CARACTACUS. 
 
 AER-CARADOC is hedged with steel 
 And eager warriors grasp their swords 
 For death or freedom, as thy words, 
 Caractacus ! inflame their zeal. 
 
 Reminding them of British worth, 
 Still, as he went from man to man, 
 He told how stout Cafsibelan 
 
 Had driven the Roman Captain forth ; 
 
 And bade them strive like stalwart peers 
 Of olden Valour ! Matters not 
 Although Misfortune named the spot ; 
 
 Their fame hath overlived the years. 
 
 O great in battle, in defeat 
 
 Sublime, true freeman firmly brave, 
 Whose soul no Cassar could enslave : 
 
 Thy glory Time shall not complete ! 
 
 i; 
 
ARTHUR. 
 
 No hand, uprising from the mere, 
 The charmed sword bestows again ; 
 And tow rd the enchanted land in vain 
 
 We watch for Arthur to appear. 
 
 Deep hid in death his knightly host ; 
 The Saxons overspread the land 
 Till, blent with many a conquering band, 
 
 The Ancient Briton race is lost. 
 
 And cowards say, c A dreamy myth : 
 ( King Arthur was not ! There was One, 
 
 A real man in times long gone, 
 Whose life had heart of hero pith. 
 
 Up, brave of soul ! the dream is plain : 
 Recast your lives in worthy mould ; 
 And, rallying to some leader bold, 
 
 Shout forth King Arthur lives again ! 
 
ALFRED, 
 
 No shade of doubt obscureth thee, 
 Whose living fame to farthest Ind 
 Was wafted on the exulting wind 
 
 O 
 
 That fill d thy sails with victory ! 
 
 O old heroic scorn of ease ! 
 
 Hope rises, ne er so often slain ; 
 
 Despair flees with the routed Dane : 
 An English navy guards the seas. 
 
 Yon glittering jewel on thy hand 
 Place boldly in the public way, 
 And find it there at latest day : 
 
 For Alfred s justice walks the land. 
 
 And Learning keeps her open school 
 Upon the steps of Alfred s throne. 
 Speak from thy glory, Valour s Own ! 
 
 Instruct our statesmen how to rule. 
 
EDMUND IRONSIDE. 
 
 Again, again, the Northmen pour 
 
 Their pirate swarms upon our coast ; 
 Year after year, host following host, 
 
 And more succeeding still to more. 
 
 Who braves the last, like stag at bay, 
 Copes hand to hand with Denmark s strength, 
 Gains field on field, and fails at length, 
 
 Not weakly, but as warriors may ? 
 
 King Edmund king whate er betide, 
 Last worthy of our Alfred line, 
 His country s chief by right divine, 
 
 As iron-hearted Ironside. 
 
 Too late : except to close the tale, 
 Of peace grown fat with shame secure, 
 And foes who make their footing sure, 
 
 And then proud deeds of no avail. 
 
HEREWARD THE SAXON. 
 
 Seven feet of wild sea-beach is all 
 King Harold s realm : a foreign heel 
 Tramples that noble grave ; and steel, 
 
 Which slew the free, shall scourge the thrall, 
 
 f Woe to the Vanquish d ! tyrant greed, 
 And anarchy with sateless maw, 
 And rapine scorning right and law : 
 The worst a stranger s hate can breed. 
 
 Indignant tears of bearded men, 
 
 And shrieks of outraged maids and wives, 
 
 o * 
 
 And servile deaths, and outlaw d lives 
 In deep morafs or savage glen. 
 
 Nor even the stubborn Hereward 
 
 Can break the Norman s planted staff; 
 Or win beyond this epitaph, 
 The last who sheathed a Saxon sword. 
 
 19 
 
ROBIN-HOOD. 
 
 Yet better far in tangled wood 
 
 Than palaced with the tyrant s men; 
 And nobler than a Norman den 
 
 The forest-lair of Robin-Hood. 
 
 Ay, better even for yeoman good. 
 Than service under foreign lord, 
 To roam at will on springy sward 
 
 And rouse the deer with Robin-Hood. 
 
 Cease, villein ! o er thy woes to brood ; 
 Be woodman s law thy only friend, 
 Thy quarry vengeance : out, and bend 
 
 A freeman s bow with Robin-Hood ! 
 
 A thankless life in the merry green wood : 
 Nathelefs in the shadow of Freedom there 
 Some worthier hearts may learn to dare 
 
 An aim beyond bold Robin Hood. 
 
MAGNA-CHARTA. 
 
 Gleams back on glorious summer morn 
 From spear and shield the flashing light, 
 Where Thames fair bank is fringed with might 
 
 Of barons English bred and born. 
 
 God s Army for the Right combined: 
 What king or pope shall break their wreath, 
 Or bid the sword reseek its sheath 
 
 Till our Great Charter hath been sign d ? 
 
 * 
 
 Now shout ye merrily through the land ! 
 For all that perjured monarchs doubt, 
 The Charter yet shall widen out 
 
 Till Free and Bond have set their hand. 
 
 Shout merrily, England ! Freedom s seed, 
 Whose growth our Hampden s blood bedew d, 
 Wliose promised harvest Milton view d, 
 
 Took root that day on Runnymead. 
 
FIRST COMMONS PARLIAMENT. 
 
 What host encamps on southern downs, 
 A white cross glimmering on each breast ; 
 And every kneeler s heart addrefs d 
 
 To Him whose will controuleth crowns ? 
 
 Halt, Monarchy ! thy wand is bent : 
 The or od Sir Simon rules the land ; 
 And gathers to his beckoning hand 
 
 The English Commons Parliament. 
 
 O bloody-tinctured autumn leaf! 
 
 How Evesham s vale is heap d with slain ; 
 
 Despair toils gallantly, in vain : 
 Yet God shall lift thee in his sheaf. 
 
 Set firm thy foot, thou base-born churl ! 
 Against the foot of mailed knight : 
 And, as thou wrestlest for thy right, 
 
 Remember Leicester s Righteous Earl 1 
 
WICKLIFFE AND SAWTRE. 
 
 Behold where hasteneth on our view, 
 Like one with tidings from afar. 
 The Reformation s Morning Star, 
 
 With all his lustrous retinue : 
 
 Free-Thought to winnow truth from chaff; 
 
 And Conscience, God s ordaining priest ; 
 
 And Sacrifice that crowns the least 
 With an eternal epitaph. 
 
 Make ready Sawtre s cart of flame, 
 His triumph-car to God s own door ; 
 And pour the full light through the floor 
 
 That beareth Wickliffe s sainted name ! 
 
 Ungrave his bones ! Swift to the sea 
 Shall float his ashes fire-accursed, 
 That on the curblefs tempest hearsed, 
 
 His dust may bid the world be free. 
 
WAT-TYLER. 
 
 But hurl your logic fairly through ! 
 Since all alike are born divine, 
 In right of Adam s royal line, 
 
 Red king and weather-purpled too, 
 
 Let human lives, as soul with soul, 
 Be equal, and their pafsage free : 
 Unbarrier d as the impartial sea, 
 
 Whose waves bound onward to one goal ! 
 
 Pray thou for Thor s unerring throw ! 
 
 Woe worth thy treason, Royal Knave ! 
 
 Wat-Tyler s hammer digs thy grave, 
 Though falling far, and seeming slow. 
 
 Stout Saxon W T orkman ! fling thy wrath 
 On him who scorns thy homely stead, 
 Who counts thee but as groats-per-head. 
 
 Strike once, and clear thy forward path ! 
 
 
WARS OF THE ROSES 
 
 What gain is Chaucer s valorous rhyme, 
 What prize the fame of Azincourt, 
 If England s heart and life fall short 
 
 Of deeds and poesy sublime ? 
 
 If Wrong contending aye with Wrong, 
 And Robber Robber mastering, 
 Be all the sad shamed years may bring 
 
 Their dark blood-slippery path along ? 
 
 Hate copes with Hate, Power strives gainst Power 
 What happy strength may Discord know ? 
 From bitter fount what stream can flow ? 
 
 What fruit shall follow canker d flower? 
 
 The door the fool Injustice built 
 
 Lets in his fellow. Nought can stay 
 Crime s Shadow. Fierce-wing d Ruins lay 
 
 Their dragon-eggs in nest of Guilt. 
 
 25 
 
Kill THE TANNER. 
 
 Squeeze public weal for private gain ; 
 
 Remove the landmarks of the poor ; 
 
 Add field to field ; heap store on store : 
 And marvel that your serfs complain. 
 
 Gather your thousands round the tree 
 That canopies the Tanner s throne : 
 O patient poor-folk ! cease to moan ; 
 
 Can not those sinews make you tree ? 
 
 The summer-tide is green with hope, 
 Hope all untrain d, that only dares : 
 And now what harvest home is theirs ? 
 
 The rebel s choice of sword or rope. 
 
 So Tyler fail d, so Ket must fail: 
 
 The plough hath pafs d o er Moushold Oak 
 The unheeded word the c felon spoke 
 
 Time echoeth, until it prevail. 
 
QUEEN ELIZABETH, 
 
 Scene-shifting History ! Grief shall be 
 Transfigured in the dazzling sheen 
 That wreathes yon haughty-visaged Queen 
 
 With constellated majesty. 
 
 What pageants these, with Honour s spoil ? 
 
 Rare Spenser ; Sidney without stain ; 
 
 And Raleigh of the subtle brain, 
 First planter in Columbian soil ; 
 
 And Drake whose knightly arm had zoned 
 The World, who singed the Spaniard s beard ; 
 With noble Effingham who clear d 
 
 Our seas, and Wickliffe s curse atoned ; 
 
 And Shakspere who has Fame for hearse, - 
 And the world s years for pyramid 
 W^here pride of kings, else ruin-hid, 
 
 Shall lie embalm d in richest verse. 
 
 :=.: 
 
GILBERT AND DAVIS. 
 
 Yet pafs not by the pageant so ! 
 
 Some other modest names shine forth, 
 Ta shame our huckstering years with worth 
 
 Of souls could both believe and do. 
 
 Great Humfrey Gilbert who would spend 
 Himself in toils, and danger spurn : 
 Since death is sure and fame eterne, 
 f Wherefore I falter not, nor bend. 
 
 Brave Master Davis, love of whom 
 *Led men from pleasant hearths to dare 
 
 The trackless seas. God watch d him where 
 He met his thanklefs noble doom. 
 
 And Grenville, whose one hundred men 
 That night off Florez did remain 
 To teach the naval power of Spain 
 
 The English of heroic then. 
 
SIR RICHARD GRENVILLE. 
 
 A hundred men for fifteen hours 
 
 Beat back ten thousand : morn shall see 
 One bark defying fifty-three, 
 
 And, shatter d, foiling all their powers. 
 
 For warily distant in a ring 
 
 Spain s great armadas baffled lie : 
 Like dogs, far-watching till he die, 
 
 Around the dying forest king. 
 
 And c with a glad and quiet mind 
 c Here die I Richard Grenville, who 
 c Have done what I \vas bound to do, 
 
 Leaving a soldier s fame behind. 
 
 A soldier s fame ! What else, while Life 
 Must battle momently with Wrong P 
 Gird on thy sword, be true and strong,- 
 
 And God absolve thee from the strife ! 
 
SIR JOHN ELIOT, 
 
 As One who climbs from stair to stair 
 For narrow is the way and steep 
 Until he treads the topmost keep 
 
 And plants his victor-standard there, 
 
 So Boldnefs steps from age to age- 
 Built, Titan-like, hill crowning hill 
 And stands, and with o ertowering will 
 
 Throws into heaven a champion s gage. 
 
 So clomb the dawn ere day began : 
 So Eliot reacheth to his tower, 
 Proclaiming thence with herald power 
 
 The coming Monarchy of Man. 
 
 Brave Prisoner ! Quail, thou crowned Lie 
 Before that proudly wasted face : 
 The firm lips asking but one grace, 
 ( A little air, for strength to die/ 
 
HAMPDEN AND CROMWELL, 
 
 Not now may true-soul d patriots make 
 
 New homes., while Wrong o erstrides their land 
 Stay, worthiest Hampden ! though thy Jiand 
 
 Deal but one blow for Freedom s sake. 
 
 And let the fiery zeal had sought 
 Truth in the farthest wildernefs 
 Harnefs thy life to meet this strefs 
 
 With iron vigour, conscience-wrought ! 
 
 Thy manhood simple : daily prayer 
 
 For strength and time : Uplift thy brow ; 
 Muster thy fellows round thee now, 
 
 Strong-limb d and godly men \vho dare ! 
 
 With bloody spur Prince Robber rides 
 That harvest-day from Marston-Moor : 
 God made them as the straw before 
 
 The swords of Gideon s Ironsides. 
 
EXECUTION OF CHARLES. 
 
 With bloody spur may Rupert ride 
 From Naseby ; Dunbar shall be ours ; 
 And Worcester echo on the hours 
 
 When God was manifest on our side. 
 
 Our native fields are crimson-dyed 
 
 With brothers blood; I may not wink 
 At Charles in pistol-reach. Nor shrink 
 
 From solemner tyrannicide. 
 
 Shrink not ! The traitor Stuart s doom 
 Shall be a message to all days : 
 The hand-writing on the wall, to craze 
 
 Monarchic Power till Right have room. 
 
 c For Truth and Peace ! -The psalm is sung ; 
 Forth swords! In the name of God Most High 
 Charge through! Ay! through. Is Peace a lie? 
 Are Truth and Peace but beads unstrung ? 
 
THE COMMONWEALTH. 
 
 Then bind the axe with lictor rods, 
 
 Let them precede you through the street : 
 That, as the years your triumph meet, 
 
 Men may respect your work as God s. 
 
 Glory to England ! at her heart 
 The spirit of patriotism stirs, 
 A living hope : what joy is hers ! 
 
 And now all childlefs as thou art ! 
 
 But then thy heroes pour d their blood, 
 
 Their wisdom, power, and wealth, for thee 
 Their duteous valour made thee free ; 
 
 Their lives thy honour understood : 
 
 Or striding over slaughter s field, 
 Or building empire on the waves, 
 Or driving tyrants to their graves, 
 
 Or rounding safety s broken shield. 
 
THE LONG PARLIAMENT. 
 
 Proclaim them rebels ! none the lefs 
 
 The State s true servants, brave and leal : 
 And never royalty more real 
 
 Than that republican accefs. 
 
 When Cromwell held the scales of fight ; 
 
 And Scot unravel d treason s skein ; 
 
 And all the soul of pious Vane 
 Had scope wherein to task its might ; 
 
 When Blake was master of the sea ; 
 
 And Ireton led the march of worth; 
 
 And Bradshaw s kinsman thunder d forth 
 The glorious logic of the free. 
 
 What lack d they ? Custom s sacred oil, 
 The sanction of some mouldy shelves. 
 Why did they not assert themselves, 
 
 And make the worst reproach their foil ? 
 
ITS DISSOLUTION. 
 
 For Right is primal law of life 
 
 A form past legal precedent : 
 
 So argued Cromwell, as he went 
 To end their vainly formal strife. 
 
 What votes ? We know they are averse. 
 We ask d no warrant for the sword : 
 And shall we now let slip reward 
 
 In terror of some coward s curse ? 
 
 You would, but will not. Get you hence ! 
 
 Give place to honester attempt, 
 
 Not weakly careful to exempt 
 True deeds from challenge of offence. 
 
 Brave pilot-king ! hold thou the helm ; 
 
 And drive the vex d ship through the storm. 
 
 While Milton s praises Time inform, 
 Blame wrecks thee not, howe er it whelm. 
 
MILTON. 
 
 For he was of Perfection s mould, 
 The best-beloved of Freedom s seed, 
 jHer councillor in depth of need 
 
 Or standing on the steps of gold. 
 
 And day by day his course he kept 
 Within the bounds of virtuous aim, 
 No razor-bridge o er gulfs of flame, 
 
 But the broad path where Honour stept. 
 
 Life s topmost heights he firmly trod ; 
 
 As grandly journey d through c the mean 1 ; 
 
 Defeat bow d to his front serene ; 
 His worn eyes ne er lost sight of God. 
 
 And therefore Freedom did intrust 
 
 To his sure hand her two-edged blade : 
 Which slays who wrongly ask its aid, 
 
 And only serves the pure and just. 
 
THE PROTECTORATE. 
 
 And Milton leans on Cromwell s hand, 
 And Cromwell looks with Milton s eyes ; 
 Succefs must kneel to their emprize, 
 
 The Future stoop to their command. 
 
 Religious Skill the nation s harm 
 
 Shall cure, and private morals heal ; 
 And Justice guide the common-weal ; 
 
 And Art and Song add each its charm. 
 
 Hark ! Milton s voice in Alpine pafs 
 Hurls back the persecutor s sword : 
 For c England s name shall be a word 
 \ c More dread than e er the Roman was. 
 
 So had it been. What dirge-like groan 
 
 Rends earth and sea with tempest-power ? 
 Great Cromwell pafses in that hour. 
 
 Lord ! make this people yet thine own. 
 
VANE SYDNEY RUSSELL. 
 
 The fire is out ; Vane s life-blood pour d 
 Upon the scatter d altar-stones : 
 And ribalds desecrate the bones 
 
 Of men whom Courage had adored. 
 
 And on the Martyrs bloody sod 
 
 Shame s revellers foot the embers out, 
 Save where, escaped the darkening rout, 
 
 Two souls flash upward unto God : 
 
 A Rufsell, pleading for the right 
 
 Of battle with tyrannic laws ; 
 
 A Sydney, for the c Good Old Cause 
 Republican. And all is night. 
 
 A night to make the brave despair : 
 For Circe s Bastard hath regain d 
 His wand ; and England sits enchain d, 
 
 Plague-smitten, stark, with horrent hair. 
 
i688. 
 
 One fitful gleam illumes the cloud, 
 The murky pall of English Worth ; 
 The muttering thunder once bursts forth, 
 
 The sleeper turneth in his shroud. 
 
 What noise ? inquires the dark-brow d king : 
 Tis nothing but a rabble cheer 
 An empty shout to wake no fear 
 
 The Bishops verdict welcoming. 
 
 Tis nothing : it hath scared away 
 Another king. Tis nothing yet. 
 Albeit the Stuarts orb hath set, 
 
 No Morning Star brings in the Day. 
 
 There is no virtue in a choice 
 Of evil ways ; nor in the staid 
 Slow drone of caution,, doubt delay d, 
 
 The rhythm of an heroic voice. 
 
 39 
 
PAINE. 
 
 Yet once again a prophet s speech 
 To the dull isle an entrance finds, 
 Borne upon transatlantic winds : 
 
 Ah, if it England s heart might reach ! 
 
 And on the crimson-clouded dawn 
 
 Of France strong English words are writ 
 Kings shake as with an ague-fit ; 
 
 Power fleeth like a startled fawn. 
 
 Alas ! turn back the blotted page. 
 
 The Titans under ^Etna lie ; 
 
 The prophet hath his destiny, 
 An exiled and neglected age. 
 
 Last of the Brave ! when Freedom cites 
 Her Chosen, can she pafs thy name ? 
 True-hearted Paine, who dared proclaim 
 
 The common-sense of human rights. 
 
 10 
 
So Freedom s voice fail d. All was still, 
 Except the moaning of the sea, 
 And fierce winds yelling up the lee, 
 
 Or shrieking round some wooded hill. 
 
 No sound articulate : but tears, 
 Wild gusts of iron-pointed rain, 
 And raving wind and wave again, 
 
 And sobs as of heart-breaking years. 
 
 Speak to us, thou unhonour d Dead ! 
 Since living utterance is none : 
 Thou that wast of our blood and bone, 
 
 Redeem us from this close of dread ! 
 
 O eyes star-likest, dim d, not dull ! 
 
 Proud face, so radiant through the dark ! 
 
 Deep-hearted voice ! Be hush d to mark 
 His song; then lift your chorus full! 
 
HO calleth MILTON? Is there nought 
 Of manhood now in England ? Bid 
 The living rise ! What tomb hath hid 
 Thy copies of heroic thought ? 
 
 Thy Coke ; thy Selden ; or thy Pym 
 Staunch hunter of the tyrant earl ; 
 Thy Blake ; thy Vane whose days unfurl 
 
 As stately as a blazon d hymn ; 
 
 Thy Fairfax Valour s second self; 
 
 Thy Marten Thought with brow unbent ; 
 
 Thy Bradshaw Worths fit president ; 
 Thy Marvel too rich-soul d for pelf. 
 
 Wake, thou that sleep st on Sydney s grave ! 
 Up, helot-bred ! The Ghosts of Old 
 Point with dead fingers at thy cold 
 
 Unpafsion d life, thou worse than slave ! 
 
 43 
 
Awake ! the ruddy morn grows late ; 
 
 Resume the glories of thy line ; 
 
 Own at the least some duty thine ; 
 Up ! for the Gaul is at thy gate. 
 
 Shake off the apathy has made 
 Thy life an ignominious dream, 
 Half sunk in Lethe s duller stream 
 
 The foul, slow, sullen wave of Trade ! 
 
 Once more let Reverence guide thy feet ; 
 And Hope s prophetic voice be raised, 
 Above the clamours of the crazed, 
 
 Above the traffic of the street ! 
 
 O Hope ! What hope ? Of more per cent, 
 Of costlier garb, or daintier food, 
 For me or you ? Nay ! hope of Good, 
 
 Not shabby personal discontent. 
 
Our Country s good: so pure that Fame 
 Shall consecrate our flag as hers, 
 And History s firmest characters 
 
 Write in God s Book our England s name. 
 
 Our Country : ay ! the column d group 
 Of upright fairly-cluster d years, 
 The one continuous life, that bears 
 
 A roof where Virtue need not stoop. 
 
 Close, brethren ! stand no more aloof; 
 Wait not God s Woes to force you near, 
 War s iron ring of tightening fear, 
 
 Or blind Dishonour s crushing hoof. 
 
 My England ! claim again thy due 
 To teach the nations how to live ; 
 Nor hold thy great heart as a sieve 
 
 For daily shames to hurry through ! 
 
The place where pedlars day by day- 
 Dispute their gains, or nightly rest, 
 Is not our Country, but at best 
 
 A decent caravanserai. 
 
 Step reverently ! each foot of earth 
 Is hallow d ground : heroic dust 
 Of sires who left their land in trust 
 
 To me and thee, for future Worth. 
 
 What monument should mark their grave 
 Their likenefs on their ancient seat. 
 And Angels with swift-winged feet 
 
 Bringing the garlands of the Brave. 
 
 Look up ! Be thou, this Present Time, 
 That glorious Image of the Past ; 
 And yon cloud-shadow, o er thee cast, 
 
 The coming of a doom sublime ! 
 
Seek Faith, that brooks no lower aims : 
 The Faith in God, which works for man : 
 The Faith whose martyr-name is Can, 
 
 Whose form walks harmlefs thorough flames 
 
 And welcome Honour home again, 
 To guard thee like, a rock-built wall, 
 That shakes not though the heavens fall, 
 
 Though Fate herself should slip her chain. 
 
 And Patriot Zeal shall spring from these : 
 An armed knight with flag unfurPd, 
 Firm-held on high before the world, 
 
 To rescue world-eternities. 
 
 And make thy life as purest glafs, 
 
 Through which the Angel shall be seen : 
 No more a cell of pafsions mean, 
 
 A tomb o erwrit with lies of brafs ! 
 
So build thy house the Church of God- 
 That all may worship in its dome : 
 Its poorest room a holy home, 
 
 Whose threshold Power shall crofs unshod ! 
 
 And care lest, when thy servants lay 
 Their duteous offerings on thy shrine, 
 The woman s half as duly thine 
 
 Be privily hid and kept away ! 
 
 Our wiser fathers could perceive 
 In woman s soul God s purer ray : 
 Fair Eos of the hastening Day, 
 
 Lead us to love, and to believe ! 
 
 And bid thy children reverence thee, 
 
 And trust themselves, and serve the True 
 Nor only teach them what to do ; 
 
 Instruct them also how to be ! 
 
A crystal, break it as you will, 
 Howe er minutely it divides, 
 Each fragment hath its perfect sides, 
 
 Each is a perfect crystal still. 
 
 Be thus complete ! Yet ware the fault 
 Of shaping, fitting overmuch, 
 Till, as the most are fashion d, such 
 
 Hie few must be, and progrefs halt. 
 
 Brave Nature hath no general mould 
 Wherein the larger and the lefs 
 Must needs conform; but to the streis 
 
 OH will commits the stronger-soul d. 
 
 Nor lose in widest range of growth 
 
 O O 
 
 The shade which each should yield to 
 Be every life an earnest speech ; 
 The nation s one according oath ! 
 
We are a nation for this end : 
 
 That in the close familiar tie 
 
 Our own may find a sure ally 
 In war, in peace a friendlier friend. 
 
 So several strengths may interlace, 
 As lovers arms, like choosing like : 
 Smile thus ! Why, Destiny dare not strike ; 
 
 New Gods proceed from our embrace. 
 
 New Gods : for w 7 hoso serveth, he 
 Is as a God ; and we, full-grown, 
 No more are living for our own, 
 
 But for the world. God ! may it be. 
 
 So, England ! though the blustering tides 
 Break over thee with stormiest wrath, 
 Thou shalt be sure. Brave Ark, that hath 
 
 God s Freight. And lo, the flood subsides. 
 
And milder skies console the lands ; 
 
 Our bow of promise spans the years ; 
 
 And Nations, smiling through their tears, 
 Stretch forth to thee their grateful hands. 
 
 For thou didst aid them to endure ; 
 
 Didst share their every hope and ill ; 
 
 And bridged the future with firm will 
 Whereon great actions walk d secure. 
 
 And therefore England s name is held 
 Beloved, First of Hope s Redeem d : 
 Now Hope no longer is blasphemed, 
 
 Since hoary Tyranny is quell d. 
 
 And guerdons strew thy onward course, 
 As in the prime of Freedom s day 
 Thou gird st thee to resume thy way, 
 
 Rejoicing in thy giant force. 
 
Sweet is young Pafsion s lusty spring ; 
 
 And holy is the household fire . 
 
 Where sit the Matron and the Sire 
 And watch the Blefsings years must bring;, 
 
 Now Summer piles his gorgeous eves : 
 
 A O c^ 
 
 The realm is crown d with ruddy grain : 
 The lordly peasant heaps his gain, 
 And bright-hair d laughers count the sheave 
 
 Hark to the hammer s cheerful song ! 
 Thor worketh at his forge, beside 
 The younger God Art deified 
 
 By labour lowest needs among. 
 
 And Health enjoys his simple feast ; 
 Age grows on age, like leaf on stem,- 
 Each with its blofsom-diadem - 
 
 The Statesman and the Poet-Priest. 
 
So inward-eyed, the Prophet saw. 
 
 Now dust is gather d on his head ; 
 
 How laggardly the centuries tread ! 
 Yet shall his dream be truth and law ; 
 
 His voice be heard in every clime 
 
 Where English Enterprize hath trod; 
 His eyes, outworn with tracking God, 
 
 Still choose our path to verge of time ; 
 
 His song shall be the clarion-cry 
 
 To win us from lethargic rest ; 
 
 His name, like a beloved crest, 
 Shall lead our force to victory. 
 
 Weak, pafsionate words ! O for an hour 
 Of Fame, that banded Wrong might kno\v 
 The worth of one true English blow 
 
 O 
 
 Struck home witli full Miltonic power! 
 
O\V hang your vows upon his urn ! 
 Heap sacrifices o er his tomb : 
 Till that high monument become 
 
 o 
 
 A mark Time s farthest may discern ! 
 
 Lo where Hyperion s Image towers ! 
 
 Who climbs the height, with fitting meed 
 To crown our chief? What soaring deed 
 
 Shall reach him from these downcast hours r 
 
 Whatever life hath core of truth 
 
 May tread the summit of the steep ; 
 Or with wing d prophecy upleap 
 
 The distance. Rouse thee, English Youth ! 
 
 Kifs with pure lips the living coal 
 
 From Freedom s altar ! Learn to dare ; 
 Train thy brave sinews ; up, and swear 
 
 True service ! Ay ! 
 
The leaf hath fallen, the pool is stir d : 
 Spread, ye slow circles ! far and wide, 
 And reach the shore on every side. 
 
 So falleth my unnoticed word. 
 
 None answer : yet by that lone voice 
 The waves of air are moved, to be 
 Moved yet again, eternally. 
 
 Dying unheeded, I rejoice. 
 
 Long grafses hide a nameltfs stone : 
 The poorest grafs-root hath its seeds : 
 What care though triumph s growth proceeds 
 
 From vile remains of one unknown r 
 
 At thy side 
 
 Truth sits, serenely waiting till 
 The glais of Destiny shall fill, 
 And Victory mount to claim his bride. 
 
NOTES 
 
NOTES. 
 
 When baffled Caesar fled the isle 
 
 Britain he sought, but turn d his back dismay d. Lucan. See 
 also the Commentaries for sufficient proof. 
 
 Like him who dead, in tear flung down 
 
 The bands of the Moabites invaded the land. And as they 
 were burying a man they spied a band ; and they cast the man 
 into the sepulchre of Elisha : and when the man was let down 
 and touched the bones of Elisha, he revived, and stood up on his 
 feet. 2 Kings, XIII. 20-1 
 
 Whose livinir fame to farthest I mi 
 
 Sigelm, bishop of Sherburn, was sent to India by Alfred, with 
 sifts for the shrine of St. Thomas. 
 
 Hereward, the Saxon. 
 
 England s Darling as Hereward was called was lord of 
 Born, in Lincolnshire. He was in Flanders at the time of the 
 Conquest : but returning, he expelled the Normans from his pa 
 trimony, aided his neighbours in like deeds, and, establishing a 
 fortified Camp of Refuge in the morasses of the Isle of Ely, 
 raised the banner of independence, arid long bade defiance to the 
 Conqueror. Starved out of his stronghold, he still maintained a 
 guerilla warfare, subdued at last, in 1071, only by the hopeless 
 ness of the struggle, not conquered by the arms of William. 
 
Robin Hood 
 
 The oldest poems on Robin Hood make him a yeoman, not 
 Earl of Huntingdon. His date is very uncertain. Stowe in his 
 Annals has it about 1190. Robin Hood is taken here as the 
 impersonation of Saxon outlawry, of the long-during opposition 
 of the people to the Norman rule. 
 
 c God s Army for the Right combined 
 
 The Barons called their force the army of God and his holy 
 church, This beginning of English liberties, well worthy our 
 reverence as such, had however no provision for the relief of the 
 great mass of the people, the serfs or villeins. 
 
 What host encamps on southern downs ? 
 
 The army of Simon de Montfort, earl of Leicester, at the vic 
 tory of Lewes, 1264. In the beginning of the next year, 
 Leicester summoned the first Parliament in which the cities and 
 boroughs were represented. After his overthrow at Evesham 
 on the 4th of August, 1265 Leicester was canonized by the 
 people as a saint and martyr, and long affectionately spoken of as 
 * the good Sir Simon, Sir Simon the Righteous. 
 
 Make ready Sawtre s cart of flame 
 
 William Sawtre, rector of Lynn, in Norfolk, burnt at the 
 stake for heresy in 1401, was the first religious martyr in Eng 
 land. 
 
 John de Wycliffe, the herald of the Reformation, died in his 
 bed, at his rectory of Lutterworth in Leicestershire, in 1384 ; 
 and his body lay unmolested in the grave till 1428. But then 
 says quaint old Fuller, in his Church History such the spleen 
 of the Council of Constance as they not only cursed his memory 
 as dying an obstinate heretic, but ordered that his bones (with 
 
 62 
 
this charitable caution, if it may be discerned from the bodies 
 of other faithful people) to be taken out of the ground and 
 thrown far off from any Christian burial. In obedience here 
 unto, Rich. Fleming, Bishop of Lincoln, Diocesan of Lutterworth, 
 sent his officers (vultures with a quick sight, scent, at a dead car 
 case) to ungrave him. Accordingly to Lutterworth they come, 
 Sumner, Commissary, Official, Chancellor, Proctors, Doctors, and 
 their servants (so that the remnant of the body would not hold 
 out amongst so many hands), take what was left out of the 
 grave, and burnt them to ashes, and cast them into Swift, a 
 neighbouring brook running hard by. Thus this brook has 
 conveyed his ashes into Avon, Avon into Severn, Severn into the 
 narrow seas, they into the main ocean ; and thus the ashes of 
 WicklifTe are the emblem of his doctrine, which now is dispersed 
 all the world over. 
 
 Pray thou for Thor s unerring throw 
 
 Thor, the Saxon War-God, was said to be the first-born of the 
 Sun and Earth ; for so soon as light dawns upon the chaotic 
 earth true force begins its warfare for improvement. His gaunt- 
 leted hand wielded an iron hammer which never missed its aim, 
 with which he crushed all things that opposed the Eternal Gods. 
 
 Nearly five hundred years since (1381) Wat Tyler, the Ma 
 ligned of History, demanded the political equality of all subjects 
 of the realm, and now our intelligent villeins mechanics and 
 else are considering the propriety of some whig instalment, 
 of the franchise for all but about a million . 
 
 Ketj the Tanner 
 
 Robert Ket or Knight a wealthy tanner of Wymondham, 
 near Norwich, headed a rebellion of the labouring-classes in 
 1549. Their particular grievance was the enclosure of common 
 
 63 
 
lands. An army of twenty thousand men assembled round Ket s 
 banner, and at first defeated the king s troops ; but, wanting dis 
 cipline, were after a few months bravery utterly overthrown. 
 Ket held his tribunal under an oak which thence was called 
 the Tree of Reformation on Moushold Hill. Here just judge 
 ment was pronounced, whether on notorious injurers of the Com 
 monalty or on t-he more disorderly of the rebel camp. And here, 
 too, with a notable fairness, the insurgents permitted even their 
 opponents to make pithy orations against their enterprize. 
 
 And Raleigh of che subtle brair, 
 First pi inter in Columbian ?oU 
 
 The first attempts at English colonization in America were 
 made under the direction of Sir Walter Raleigh. 
 
 And Drake whose knightly arm had zoned 
 The World, who singed the Spaniard s beard ; 
 With noble F.ffingham 
 
 Sir Francis Drake was the second who sailed round the world, 
 the Portuguese Magellan or Magelhanes being the first. On 
 the first threat of the Spanish invasion of England, Drake was 
 sent to burn the Spanish ships in their own harbours. This he 
 called singeing the King of Spam s beard. Lord Howard of 
 Effingham, though a Catholic, gallantly led the Protestant force 
 of his country to victory over the invader : a noble expiation of 
 the old insult to Wickliffe s memory, the Papal Armada sunk 
 in the seas which had drunk the ashes of the Heresiarch. 
 
 Great Humfrey Gilbert 
 
 Humfrey Gilbert (half-brother of Sir Walter Raleigh) who 
 gave his life and fortune to serve his country by maritime disco- 
 very. On his way home, in his last voyage, he trusted himself 
 
 64 
 
Nor shrink 
 
 From solemner tyrannicide 
 
 Mt has always been as lawful to put an enemy to death as tx> 
 attack him with the sword. Since thea a tyrant is not only an 
 enemy, but the public enemy of mankind, he may certainly be 
 put to death with as much justice on the scaffold as he is opposed 
 with arms in the field. Milton s Second Defence of the People of 
 England. 
 
 For Truth and Peace ! 
 
 The battle- word at Waisby-Field. It passed along the line; 
 the psalm pealed forth; and, as its last, accents sank, the swords 
 of the Ironsides flashed out, and Cromwell s voice was heard, 
 bidding them charge through in the name of the Most High 
 God. What Peace till Truth is thoroughly sure ? 
 
 Or building empire on the waves 
 
 Not only by the victories of Blake and Dean, but also by that 
 foundation of England s mercantile greatness the Navigation 
 Act the work of Oliver St. John. 
 
 Or rounding Safety s broken shield 
 
 We owe the Habeas-Corpus Act, the independent tenure 
 of the Judges, the abolition of feudal wardships, and the first 
 State assertion of religious freedom, to the Long Parliament. 
 They pressed no man in their wars ; and when they had con 
 quered Scotland, their rule was such that even an enemy was 
 forced to utter this memorable commendation : There was 
 good justice done ; and vice was suppressed and punished : so 
 that we always reckon those eight years of usurpation a time of 
 great peace and prosperity. Burnet. 
 
When Scot unravePd treason s skein 
 
 Thomas Scot, a most industrious and successful tracker of the 
 Stuart conspiracies, was one of the firmest and most devoted of 
 the republican party. When Monk was smuggling in Charles 
 the Dissolute, some of the presbyterians in Parliament were for 
 washing their hands of the death of his father. Scot rose and said 
 c Though I know not where to hide my head at this time, yet I 
 dare not refuse to own that not only my hand, but my heart also, 
 was in it. He desired no other epitaph than Here lies Tho 
 mas Scot who adjudged the King to death. He was one of that 
 martyr-band of ten (Vane remaining in prison till 1662, the 
 noblest reserved to complete the sacrifice) whose blood dripped 
 on the first steps of the Kest oration. At the scaffold the same 
 high spirit spoke from his lips. His last words were a thanks 
 giving to God that of his grace he had engaged him in a cause 
 not to be repented of. I say not to be repented of. So stepped 
 his soul to God. 
 
 And Ireton led the march of worth 
 
 Cromwell s son-in-law, and lord deputy of Ireland, of whom 
 it has been well said He was a most exact justiciary in all mat 
 ters of moral righteousness, and with strength of solid reason had 
 a most piercing judgment and a large understanding. If he erred 
 in anything, it was in too much neglecting himself. He was 
 everything, from a foot-soldier to a general. Firm, sober, and 
 resolved : |fdds Godwin. 
 
 For Right is primal law of life 
 
 Or, more precisely to meet the formalists: By what legal 
 right did that Long Parliament extend its session? And were they 
 about to appeal to the People? Nay! Vane himself only sought 
 an appeal to a select number, those whom he thought fit to be 
 
trusted with the franchise. Such is the mischief of your fitnesses 
 and expediences, your so many or so few to be counted worthy. 
 Why not Cromwell s select number as well as Vane s ? Where 
 was the fit line to be drawn ? If anywhere, surely outside those 
 
 who had fought, and were fit to fight again, for What ? A 
 
 monarchy by majority of voices, or a republic in spite of any 
 majority ? 
 
 While Milton s praises Time inform 
 Blame wrecks thee not 
 
 Hear his exact words ! You, O Cromwell ! alone remained 
 to conduct the government and to save the country. We all 
 willingly yield the palm of sovereignty to your unrivalled ability 
 and virtue, except the few among us. . . . 
 
 Milton s Second Defence.. 
 
 Algernon Sydney too, and that after the death of Cromwell, 
 could declare that he had just notions of public liberty. 
 
 Burners Own Time : Book I. 
 
 No razor-bridge o er gulfs of flame 
 
 This and the fourth stanza are but faint paraphrases of Mil 
 ton s own glorious words, in those eloquent but scarce-read 
 works the Doctrine and Discipline of Divorce and the History 
 of England till the Conquest. 
 
 And Art and Song add each its charm 
 Such song as Milton s, and Raffaelle s most subtle art. We 
 owe the Cartoons to Cromwell. 
 
 Lord ! make this people yet thine own 
 c Thou hast made me (though very unworthy) a mean instru 
 ment to do them some good and thee service ; Lord ! however 
 
thou dost dispose of me, continue to goon and do good for them ! 
 Such was Cromwell s prayer, a little before his mighty soul 
 passed away : amid a storrn that shook all London and scattered 
 wrecks on the shores of southernmost Europe. 
 
 And ribalds desecrate the bones 
 
 The bodies of Cromwell, Ireton, and Bradshaw, were torn out 
 of their graves and exposed on the gallows at Tyburn. Their 
 heads were then cut off and stuck upon Westminster Hall. The 
 miserable revenge was worthy of the son of him who refused Sir 
 John Eliot s body to the patriot s son. < These be your Gods, O 
 Israel ! 
 
 A Rufsell pleading for the right 
 Of battle 
 
 Lord William Russell s real crime was his refusal to admit the 
 modern Whig doctrine of passive obedience: our non-intervention, 
 when applied to other nations. He died for the sacred right of 
 insurrection. Algernon Sydney was a martyr lor the good old 
 cause of the Commonwealth. 
 
 There is no virtue in a choice 
 Of evil ways 
 
 How tame and cold and poor the phlegmatic Dutch whiggery 
 of 1G88 contrasted with the heroism of the preceding generation ! 
 The sword of the Lord and of Gideon transformed into a trick 
 ster s pen ; and for energetic Faith the petty expediences of un 
 principled diplomatists, broadcasting the seeds of our present 
 meannesses. Yet Freedom shall be justified of her children. 
 
And on the crimson-clouded dawn 
 
 Of France strong Knglish words are writ 
 
 Paine s Address to the French People, on the Alolition of 
 Royalty : which had to be translated back again into English so 
 late as 1843. 
 
 Thy Coke ; thy Selden ; or thy Pym 
 
 Sir Edward Coke, said to be too honest for a Judge, theframer, 
 in the Parliament of 1G28, of the Petition of Right, to prevent 
 forced loans, arbitrary imprisonments, illegal billeting of soldiers, 
 and martial law in time of peace. Coke was then fourscore years 
 of age. The liberties of England says William Godwin are 
 perhaps to no man so deeply indebted as to Sir Edward Coke. 
 Selden has been called the most learned man this country ever 
 produced. He early rendered himself obnoxious to the Court 
 by his History of Tithes. He, too, suffered imprisonment for the 
 people s cause, and may justly be ranked among the nobles of our 
 noblest epoch. Pym the unrelenting pursuer of Straffoid, 
 brave Admiral BJake, and Sir Harry Vane, are names we all 
 know by heart. 
 
 Thy Fairfax Valour s second self 
 Cromwell said of Fairfax, that he would rather serve under him 
 than command the greatest army in Europe. The high and 
 beautiful qualities of Fairfax writes Godwin. And again 
 He was a most accomplished general, . . in the field col 
 lected and vigilant, seeing every thing. He was a man of 
 eminent virtue. 
 
 Thy Marten Thought with brow unbent 
 Henry Marten, of an incomparable wit and a great lover of 
 pretty girls, reckless and dissipated ; yet one of the most active 
 
and wise and serviceable men of the time, and for his many good 
 parts admitted to the intimacy of the gravest and most religious 
 men of that puritanic age. A great observer of justice, and did 
 always in the House take the part of the oppressed. He is said 
 to have been the first to openly avow the republican aims of his 
 party ( I do not think one man wise enough to govern us all ) ; 
 and he was one of the King s judges. After the Restoration he 
 endured twenty years imprisonment in Chepstow Castle. In the 
 last years of his suffering, old and infirm, he was allowed an oc 
 casional walk into Chepstow village. One person admitted him 
 into his house, and his visits here were the old man s only solace. 
 One day his host inquired Was the deed again to do, would he 
 sign the death-warrant of Charles ? Yes ! said Marten ; and he 
 was no more received into the questioner s house. He died in 
 his prison at the age of seventy-eight. 
 
 Thy Bradshaw Worths fit president 
 
 Bradshaw, Milton s kinsman, first president of Cromwell s 
 Council. The attachment of Milton is equivalent to volumes in 
 commendation of Bradshaw : writes Godwin in his History of 
 the Commonwealth. And again, the perfect friendship of these 
 three men, Milton, Bradshaw, and Vane ! 
 
 Marvel s incorruptibility, like Robespierre s, has become u 
 proverb. 
 
 Our wiser fathers could perceive 
 In woman s soul God s purer ray 
 
 Our German ancestors believed that the soul of woman was. 
 through its beauty and purity, nearer than that of man to God. 
 Some difference between this and sneering at woman-voters or 
 using girls in mines, shirt-factories, and 
 
Eos, or Aurora, is the Goddess of the Dawn, the bringer in of 
 the Sun-God, Hyperion, the Greek Apollo. Ah, if our women 
 would become such ! 
 
 The Statesman and the Poet-Priest 
 
 Whose callings are different : the one having to prophesy of 
 the future, the other to organise the present. There is no inten 
 tion, in any of these lines, of quitting the true poetic sphere, to 
 insist upon any political dogma. The poet has to do with princi 
 ples. Why so much stress is laid upon the almost forgotten duty 
 of patriotism is because when once we have learned to step from 
 self-love, and that love of family and friends which is but an 
 enlarged self-love, to an unselfish patriotism, then the true end 
 and aim of life and government will be made plain. Arid the 
 Author has been most anxious to show that the Freedom, whose 
 plaint he has essayed to utter, is the Freedom which forsakes per 
 sonal lusts for the sake of the diviner duty. There is Anteros 
 as well as Eros : there is also a Freedom which is riot Freedom. 
 
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