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He is an evening reveller, who makes
Weeping themselves away, till they infuse
The sky is changed !-and such a change! Oh night,
And Jura answers, through her misty shroud,
And this is in the night :-Most glorious night!
Of the loud hills shakes with its mountain-mirth, As if they did rejoice o'er a young earthquake's birth.
Now, where the swift Rhone cleaves his way between
Itself expired, but leaving them an age
years all winters,-war within themselves to wage.
Now, where the quick Rhone thus hath cleft his way,
Sky, mountains, river, winds, lake, lightnings ! ye!
like those within the human breast ? Or do ye find, at length, like eagles, some high nest?
CARDINAL WOLSEY ON HIS FALL.
Nay then, farewell ! I have touched the highest point of all my greatness ; And, from that full meridian of my glory, I haste now to my setting : I shall fall Like a bright exhalation in the evening, And no man see me more. So farewell to the little good you bear me. Farewell! a long farewell, to all my greatness ! This is the state of man; to-day he puts forth The tender leaves of hope, to-morrow blossoms, And bears his blushing honours thick The third day, comes a frost, a killing frost; And when he thinks, good easy man, full surely
His greatness is a ripening,-nips his root,
Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye ;
and fears than wars or women have ;
Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear In all my miseries ; but thou hast forced me Out of thy honest truth to play the woman. Let's dry our eyes : and thus far hear me, Cromwell ; And,
when I am forgotten, as I shall be ; And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention Of me must more be heard-say, I taught thee, Say, Wolsey,--that once trod the ways of glory, And sounded all the depths and shoals of honour, Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in; A sure and safe one, though thy master missed it. Mark but my fall, and that which ruined me: Cromwell, I charge thee, Aling'away ambition; By that sin fell the angels : how can man then, The image of his Maker, hope to win by it? Love thyself last ; cherish those hearts that hate thee ; Corruption wins not more than honesty. Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, To silence envious tongues. Be just and fear not : Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's,
Thy God's, and Truth's ; then if thou fallest, O Crong
o Cromwell, Cromwell,
The fainting traveller winds his way:
And tempt his wandering feet astray. Welcome, thrice welcome, to his eye,
The sudden moon's inspiring light, When forth she sallies through the sky,
· The guardian angel of the night. Thus mortals, blind and weak, below
Pursue the phantom Bliss, in vain : The world's a wilderness of woe,
And life a pilgrimage of pain, Till mild RELIGION, from above,
Descends, a sweet engaging formThe messenger of heavenly love,
The bow of promise in a storm. Then guilty passions wing their flight,
Sorrow, remorse, affliction cease; Religion's yoke is soft and light,
And all her paths are paths of peace.
Ambition, pride, revenge depart,
And folly flies her chastening rod; She makes the humble contrite heart
A temple of the living God. Beyond the narrow vale of time,
Where bright celestial ages roll, To scenes eternal, scenes sublime,
She points the way, and leads the soul.
The Gate of Paradise restored ;
And drops his double-flaming sword.
May we the crown of glory gain ; Rise when the Host of Heaven' expire,
And reign with God, for ever reign!
If ever you should come to Modena,
'Tis of a lady in her earliest youth,