Their hearts no proud hereafter swelled; Deep shadows veiled the way they held; The yell of vengeance was their trump of fame, Their monument, a grave without a name. Yet, strong in weakness, there they stand On yonder ice-bound rock, Stern and resolved, that faithful band, To meet Fate's rudest shock. In grateful adoration now, Upon the barren sands they bow. What tongue e'er woke such prayer As bursts in desolation there? What arm of strength e'er wrought such power As waits to crown that feeble hour? There into life an infant empire springs ! There falls the iron from the soul; There Liberty's young accents roll To fair creation's farthest bound That thrilling summons yet shall sound; And to their centre earth's old kingdoms shake; Pontiff and prince, your sway Must crumble from that day : Before the loftier throne of Heaven The hand is raised, the pledge is given, One monarch to obey, one creed to own, That monarch, God; that creed, his word alone. Spread out earth's holiest records here, Of days and deeds to reverence dear; A zeal like this what pious legends tell? On kingdoms built In blood and guilt, The worshippers of vulgar triumph dwell; Who left their nation and their age, Who boundless seas passed o'er, Famine, and frost, and savage wrath, To dedicate a shore, Where Piety's meek train might breathe their vow, And seek their Maker with an unshamed brow; Where Liberty's glad race might proudly come, And set up there an everlasting home? O many a time it hath been told, And hill and valley blessed, - There, where our banished fathers strayed, And never may they rest unsung, Gave life's noblest powers, up And bade the legacy descend Down, down to us and ours. LXXVIII. WOLSEY AND CROMWELL. SHAKESPEARE. THE following scene is taken from the historical play of "King Henry VIII." Cardinal Wolsey had been prime minister of England, the possessor of enormous wealth and unbounded power, but, in losing the favor of the king, had lost all. Cromwell was a friend and member of his household, who remained faithful to his benefactor in his fallen fortunes. WOL OL. Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness! And when he thinks, good easy man, full surely His greatness is a-ripening nips his root; And then he falls, as I do. I have ventured, Never to hope again. Enter CROMWELL, amazedly. : Why, how now, Cromwell? CROM. I have no power to speak, sir. * That is, the ruin which princes inflict. Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell. The king has cured me, - and from these shoulders, A load would sink a navy, too much honor. O, 't is a burden, Cromwell, 't is a burden Too heavy for a man that hopes for heaven! CROM. I am glad your grace has made that right use of it. WOL. I hope I have. I am able now, methinks, (Out of a fortitude of soul I feel,) To endure more miseries, and greater far, Than my weak-hearted enemies dare offer. CROM. The heaviest, and the worst, God bless him! Is your displeasure with the king. WOL. CROм. The next is, that Sir Thomas More is chosen Lord Chancellor, in your place. WOL. But he's a learned man. That's somewhat sudden; May he continue Long in his Highness's favor, and do justice For truth's sake, and his conscience; that his bones, May have a tomb of orphans' tears wept on 'em! CROM. That Cranmer is returned with welcome, Installed Lord Archbishop of Canterbury. WOL. That's news, indeed. CROM. Last, that the Lady Anne,* Whom the king hath in secrecy long married, This day was viewed in open, as his queen, Only about her coronation. WOL. There was the weight that pulled me down! O Cromwell, The king has gone beyond me; all my glories In that one woman I have lost forever! No sun shall ever usher forth mine honors, Or gild again the noble troops that waited Upon my smiles. Go, get thee from me, Cromwell; To be thy lord and master. Seek the king: That sun, I pray, may never set! I have told him (I know his noble nature) not to let Thy hopeful service perish too. Good Cromwell, O my lord, CROM. WOL. Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear Let's dry our eyes; and thus far hear me, Cromwell; * Anne Boleyn, the second wife of King Henry VIII. |