No More Learning

^ Abroad a king he seems, and sometlking more,
" At home a subject on the equal floor ;
" Or could I once him with our title see,
" So should I hope yet he might die as we.
" But let them write his praise that love him best,
" It grieves me sore to have thus much confest. "

Pardon, great Prince, if thus their fear or spite,
More than our love and duty do thee right ;
I yield, nor further will the prize contend,
So that we both alike may miss our end ;
While thou thy venerable head dost raise
As far above their malice as my praise ;
And, as the angel of our common weal»
Troubling the waters, yearly mak'st them heal.



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OF MARYELL. 155



A POEM

UPON THB DEATH OF HIS LATE HIGHNESS THE
LORD PROTKCTOU.

That Providence which had so long the care
Of Cromwell's head, and numbered every hair,
Now in itself (the glass where all appears)
Had seen the period of his golden years.
And thenceforth only did attend to trace
What death might least so fair a life deface.

The people, which, what most they fear,
esteem,
Death when more horrid, so more noble deem.
And blame the last act, like ^spectators vain,
Unless the Prince whom they applaud, be slain ;
Nor fate indeed can well refuse the right
To those that lived in war, to die in fight.

But long his valour none had left that could
Endanger him, or clemency that would ;
And he (whom nature all tor peace had made,
But angry heaven unto war liad swayed.



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15G THE POEMS

And so lees useful where he most desired,
For what he least affected, was admired ;)
Deserved yet an end whose every part
Should speak the wondrous softness of his heart.
To Love and Gnef the fatal writ was signed,
(Those nobler weaknesses of human kind,
From which those Powers that issued the decree,
Although immortal, found they were not free)
That they to whom his breast still open lies
In gentle passions, should his death disguise,
And leave succeeding ages cause to mourn,
As long as grief shall weep, or love shall burn.

Straight does a slow and languishing disesise,
Eliza,* Nature's, and his darling, seize ;
Her, when an infant, taken with her charms,
He oft would flourish in his mighty arms.
And lest their force the tender burthen wrong,
Slacken the vigour of his muscles strong,
Then to the mother's breast her softly move.
Which, while she drained of milk, she filled with

love.
But as with riper years her virtue grew,
And every minute adds a lustre new ;



* Elizabeth, Lady Claypole, the Protector's favorite daugh-
ter, died on Friday, 6th August, 1658. ** But as to his High-
ne. sfi, it was observed that his sense of her outw;ir<l misery
ill the pains she endured, took deep impression . ni him. "
Mjiiilstoii, quoted in Carl3'Ie's Cromwell, v<>! . ii. p. 402,
(American edition. )



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OF MARVELL. 157

When with meridian height her beauty shined,
And thorough that sparkled her fairer mind ;
When she with smiles serene, in words discreet,
His hidden soul at every turn could meet ;
Then might youVe daily his affection spied.
Doubling that knot which destiny had tied,
While they by sense, not knowing, comprehend
How on each other both their fates depend.
With her each day the pleasing hours he shares,
And at her aspect ciilms his growing cares ;
Or with a grandsire's joy her children sees.
Hanging about her neck, or at his knees :
Hold fast, dear infants, hold them both, or none ;
This will not stay, when once the other's gone.
A silent fire now wafts those limbs of wax,
And him within his tortured image racks.
So the flower withering, which the garden

crowned,
The sad root pines in secret under ground.