ExLibris T^PLETON Crocker, Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2008 with funding from Microsoft Corporation http://www.archive.org/details/cromwellprizepoeOOarnorich C KO M W E L L: A PRIZE POEM, RECITED IN THE THEATRE, OXFORD; JUNE 28, 1843. M A T T H E W^ A R N L 1), BALLIOL COLLEGE. @- OXFORD : PRINTED AND PUBLISHED BY J. VINCENT. M DCCC XLIII. CROMWELL A PRIZE POEM, RECITED IN THE THEATRE, OXFORD; JUNE 28, 1843. MATTHEW ARNOLD, BALLIOL COLLEGE. OXFORD: PRINTED AND PUBLISHED BY J. VINCENT. M DCCC XLIII. SYNOPSIS. Introduction — The mountains and the sea the cradles of freedom — contrasted with the birth-place of Cromwell — His childhood and youth — The germs of his future character probably formed during his life of inaction. — Cromwell at the moment of his intended embarkation — Retrospect of his past life and profligate youth — Temp- tations held out by the prospect of a life of rest in America — How far such rest was allowable — Vision of his future life — Different persons represented in it — Charles the First — Cromwell himself — His victories and maritime glory — Pym — Strafford — Laud — Hampden — Falkland — Milton — Charles the First — Cromwell on his death-bed — ? His eharacter — Dispersion of the vision — Conclusion, CROMWELL. Schrecklich ist es, deiner Wahrheit Sterbliches GefUss zu seyn. Schiller. High fate is their's, ye sleepless waves, whose ear Learns Freedom's lesson from your voice of fear ; Whose spell-bound sense from childhood's hour hath known Familiar meanings in your mystic tone : Sounds of deep import — voices that beguile Age of its tears and childhood of its smile, To yearn with speechless impulse to the free And gladsome greetings of the buoyant sea! " High fate is their' s, who where the silent sky Stoops to the soaring mountains, live and die ; * This is in allusion to the idea expressed in the twelfth of Mr. Wordsworth's Sonnets to Liberty : — " Two voices are there : one is of the sea," Sx, contrasting it with the fact of Cromwell's birth-place having been the fen country of Huntingdonshire, where he lived till he was forty years old. 6 CROMWELL. Who scale the cloud-capt height, or sink to rest In the deep stillness of its sheltering breast; — Around whose feet the exulting waves have sung, The eternal hills their giant shadows flung. No wonders nurs'd thy childhood ; not for thee t)id the waves chaunt their song of liberty ! I'hine was no mountain home, where Freedom's form Abides enthroned amid the mist and storm, And whispers to the listening winds, that swell With solemn cadence round her citadel! These had no sound for thee: that cold calm eye, Lit witli no rapture as the storm swept by, To mark with sliiverM crest the reeling wave Hide his torn head beneath his sunless cave; Or hear, 'mid circling crags, the impatient cry Of the pent winds, that scream in agony ! Yet all high sounds that mountain children hear, Flasird from thy soul upon thine inward ear; All Freedom's mystic language — storms that roar By hill or wave, the mountain or the shore, — All these had stirr'd thy spirit, and thine eye In common sights read secret sympathy ; Till all bright thoughts that hills or wave ^^n ,vv.rp ^o- taioed by order of Council. — Hnme^ vi. 309. 5R0MWELL. 9 All shapes that haunt remembrance ; soft and fair, Like a green land at sunset, all were there ! Eyes that he knew, old faces, unforgot, Gaz'd sadly down on his uni*estful lot, And Memory's calm clear voice, and mournful eye, Chill- d every buoyant hope that floated by ; Like frozen winds on southern vales that blow From a far land — the children of the snow — O'er flowering plain, and blossom'd meadow fling The cold dull shadow of their icy wing. Then Fancy's roving visions, bold and free, A moment dispossess'd reality. All airy hopes that idle hearts can frame, Like dreams between two sorrows, went and came : Fond hearts that fain would clothe the unwelcome truth Of toilsome manhood in the dreams of youth. To bend in rapture at some idol throne, Some lifeless soulless phantom of their own ; Some shadowy vision of a tranquil life, Of joys unclouded, years unstirr'd by strife ; Of sleep unshadow'd by a dream of woe; Of many a lawny hill, and streams with silver flow ; Of giant mountains by the western main. The sunless forest, and the sealike plain ; Those lingering hopes of coward hearts, that still Would play the traitor to the stedfast will, 10 CROMWELL. One moment's space, perchance, might charm his eye From the stern future, and the years gone by. One moment's space might wafl him far away To western shores — the death-place of the day ! Miglit paint the calm, sweet peace — the rest of home, Far o*er the pathless waste of labouring foam — Peace, that recaird his childish hours anew, More calm, more deep, than childhood ever knew ! Green happy places — like a flowery lea Between the barren mountains and the stormy sea. O pleasant rest, if once the race were run ! O happy slumber, if the day were done ! Dreams that were sweet at eve, at morn were sin ; With cares to conquer, and a goal to win ! His were no tranquil years — no languid sleep — No life of dreams — no home beyond the deep — No softening ray — no visions false and wild — No glittering hopes on life's grey distance smiled — Like isles of sunlight on a mountain's brow, Lit by a wandering gleam, we know not how, Far on the dim horizon, when the sky With glooming clouds broods dark and heavily. Then his eye slumber'd, and the chain was broke That bound his spirit, and his heart awoke ; Then — like a kingly river — swift and strong The future rollVl its gathering tides along ! CROMWELL. 11 The shout of onset and the shriek of fear Smote, like the rush of waters, on his ear ; And his eye kindled with the kindling fray, The surging battle and the mail'd array ! All wondrous deeds the coming days should s^e, And the long Vision of the years to be. Pale phantom hosts, like shadows, faint and far, Councils, and armies, and the pomp of war ! And one sway'd all, who wore a kingly crown, Until another rose and smote him down^ A form that tower'd above his brother men ; A form he knew — but it was shrouded then ! With stern, slow steps — unseen — yet still the same, By leaguer'd tower and tented field it came ; By Naseby's hill, o'er Marston's heathy waste, By Worcester's field the warrior-vision pass'd ! From their deep base, thy beetling cliffs, Dunbar, Rang, as he trode them, with the voice of war ! The soldier kindled at his words of fire; The statesman quail'd before his glance of ire ! Worn was his brow with cares no thought could scan ; His step was loftier than the steps of man ; • And the winds told his glory — and the wave Sonorous witness to his empire gave ! * '^ It is just to say, that the maritime glory of England may first be traced from the era of the commonwealth in a track of continuous light." — HaJlani's Const. HisL ii. 12 CROMWELL. What forms are these, that with complaining sound. And slow, reluctant steps are gathering round? Forms that, with him, shall tread life's changing stage. Cross his lone path, or share his pilgrimage. There, as he gazed, a wond'rous band — they came, Pym's look of hate, and Strafford's glance of flame. There Laud, with noiseless steps and glittering eye, In priestly garb, a frail old man, went by. His drooping head bowed meekly on his breast; His hands were folded, like a saint at rest! ' There Hampden bent him o'er his saddle bow, And death^s cold dews bedimm'd bis earnest brow. Still turn'd to watch the battle — still forgot Himself, his sufferings, in his country's lot ! i There Falkland ey'd the strife that would not cease, Shook back his tangled locks, and murmur'd — "Peace!" With feet that spurn'd the ground, lo ! Milton there Stood like a statue ; and his face was fair — Fair beyond human beauty ; and his eye, That knew not earth, soar'd upwards to the sky ! '^'His head bending down, and his hands resting on his horse^s neck, he was seen riding from the field, *^ — Lord NugenCs Memorials of Hampden^ ii. 435. « ''In his clothes and habit, which he had minded before always with more neatness and industry, he was now, not only incurious, but negligent.'* — Clarendon* CROMWELL. ^ He, too, was there — it was the princely boy, The child-companion of his childish joy ! But oh ! how chang'd — those deathlike features wore Childhood's bright glance, and sunny smile no more ! That brow so sad, so pale, so full of care — What trace of careless childhood linger'd there ? What spring of youth in that majestic mien. So sadly calm, so kingly, so serene ? No — -all was changed — the monarch wept alone. Between a ruin'd church and shattered throne ! Friendless and hopeless — like a lonely tree, On some bare headland, straining mournfully, That all night long its weary moan doth make To the vex'd waters of a mountain lake ! Still, as he gaz'd, the phantom's mournful glance Shook the deep slumber of his deathlike trance ; Like some forgotten strain that haunts us still. That calm eye follow'd, turn him where he will ; Till the pale monarch, and the long array, Pass'd, like a morning mist, in tears away ! Then all his dream was troubled, and his soul Thriird with a dread no. slumber could control; On that dark form his eyes had gaz'd before, Nor known it then ; — but it was veil'd no more ! In broad clear light the ghastly vision shone, — That form was his, — those features were his own ! •' Alluding to the stories of Cronnvell's childish intimacy with Charlea the First. 14 CHUM WELL. The nij^lit of terrors and the day of care. The years of toil, all, all were written there ! Sad faces watch'd around him, and his breath Came faint and feeble in the embrace of death. 'The gathering tempest, with its voice of fear, ^His latest loftiest music, smote his ear! 'That day of boundless hope and promise high, That day that hail'd his triumphs, saw him die! Then from those whitening lips, as death drew near, "The imprisoning chains fell off, and all was clear! Like lowering clouds, that at the close of day, Bath'd in a blaze of sunset, melt away; And with its clear calm tones, that dying prayer Cbeer'd all the failing hearts that sorrowed there ! A Life — whose ways no human thought could scan, — A life — that was not as the life of man ; A life — that wrote its purpose with a sword, Moulding itself in action, not in word ! Clarendon mpntimis a great storni w nicii aitrndod tho death of Cromwell. '' " He was a preat lover of music, and he entertained the most skilful in that science in his pay and family." — Peifed Politician. ' Cromwell died on his fortunate day, the anniversary of Dunbar and Worcester, — September 3rd. *" There is a remarkable contrast between the perfect cleaniess of the celebrated prayer Cromwell is recorded to have uttered on hi« death bed, and the confusedness of the speeches which are attributed to Ilim CROMWELL. lent with tumultuous thoughts, whose conflict rung Deep thro' his soul, and chok'd his faltering tongue ; A heart that reck'd not of the countless dead, That strew'd the blood-stain'd path where Empire led ; A daring hand, that shrunk not to fulfil The thought that spurr'd it ; and a dauntless will, Bold action's parent; and a piercing ken Thro' the dark chambers of the hearts of men ; To read each thought, and teach that master mind The fears and hopes and passions of mankind; All these were thine — Oh thought of fear ! — and thou Stretch'd on that bed of death, art nothing now. Then all his vision faded, and his soul Sprang from its sleep ! and lo, the waters roll Once more beneath him ; and the fluttering sail, Where the dark ships rode proudly, woo'd the gale ; And the wind murmur'd round him, and he stood Once more alone beside the gleaming flood. -f^ fir^^X-