great need there was that he should still take part in public affairs; finally, how much his own personal will could do ;when he considered all these things with himself, he was persuaded that he had not yet reached the goal of life. Among his intimates-" To-day," he used to say, "I certainly shall not die. I know well that God has not now willed my death." But God set Cromwell as a signal example among men, what an eminent man can do, what not (do); now, however, his fate was completed: by the sole vigour of his genius he had made himself master both of his country, and of the revolution which he had sent upon his country. Even to his last hour he remained in possession of his greatness; and he died when he was now consuming his genius and strength, vainly attempting to restore two things, which he had himself blotted out, a senate and a monarchy. XLIV. Stranger! thou art standing now All the haunts of Attic ground, Where the matchless coursers bound, Boast not, through their realms of bliss, Other spot as fair as this. Frequent down this greenwood dale Mourns the warbling nightingale, Curl'd in many a mazy twine, Blooms the never-trodden vine, By the Gods' protecting power, Anstice.-Translation of Soph. Ed. Col. 674. Into ALCAICS. XLIV. O stranger! you are seeking Colonos, perched upon cliffs glittering afar; you shall see the consecrated boundaries of equestrian Athens, and her excellent glory. At late night the melody of the nightingale is ever renewed through the thicket of the wood; to whom, in the retreat of the shady vale, the close foliage of the ivy affords a nest. Here, too, the purple of the darkling grape shines with countless clusters, not to be trodden by mortal foot; which nor the spiteful storm nor the showers can harm. Here, Bacchus exultingly celebrates the joyous orgies of his mystic rite, the summer long; and foster son allures his nursing Nymphs to the shrubberies of Nyssa. XLV. But he's the Tityus, who is robb'd of rest To vex the government, disturb the laws, What is it, but, in reason's true account, To heave the stone against the rising mount? Into HEXAMETERS. XLV. Justly you would call him Tityus, in whose heart the tide of passion holds sway, and forbids him to indulge in peaceful rest. And to him the name of Sisyphus may be given, whom clamour and anger distract from the unknown path of a life escaping notice; that he may rend his country, that he may undermine the equal laws, drunk with the insane praise of the fickle mob. He fawns upon the people, in the vain hope, that, exalted, he may sit in the supreme seat, may possess the hall of the prince. Ever to strive in vain with effort against opposition; to aim at a path, even now about to fall by the same; still tò labour, and not to reap the fruit of the labour; what shall I say this is, let it be weighed in an equal balance, what, except to thrust a stone against the opposing mountain? XLVI. Dry your sweet cheek, long drown'd with sorrow's raine, Since clouds disperst, suns guild the aire again; Seas chafe and fret, and beat, and over-boile, But turne soon after calme, as balme, or oile. Winds have their time to rage; but when they cease, Your storme is over: Lady, now appeare Off then with grave-clothes; put fresh colours on; Now let the Rose raigne like a Queene, and smile. Herrick. XLVI. Into ELEGIACS. O dear one, dry your cheeks, which the shower of grief has drenched; the clouds dispersed, the gilded air is bright. The seas dash against the rocks, and swell with a tide; but soon, the billows lulled, the wave subsides. Now the blasts increase, now decreasing they are still; gently on the tree-top the summit nods. Sorrowful winter has passed to thee, and, spring-renewed, half revealed, bring back your hidden charms. Put off your funereal robes, assume bright ones; draw (after you) the veil, and train dyed with vermilion. Forsooth of old the frozen icicle hung upon your cheeks; there henceforth let the genial rose reign, (and) smile. XLVII. Lo! where the smoke and the flame contend! The smoke rises in dark gyres to the air, and escapes to join the wrack of the clouds. From the first to the last we trace its birth and its fall; from the heart of the fire to the descent in the rain. So it is with human reason, which is not the light, but the smoke: it struggles but to darken us, it soars but to melt in the vapour and dew. Yet, lo! the flame burns in our hearth till the fuel fails, and goes, at last, none know whither. But it lives in the air, though we see it not; it lurks in the stone, and waits the flash of the steel; it coils round the dry leaves and sere stalks, and a touch re-illumes it; it plays in the marsh,-it collects in the heavens,—it appals us in the lightnings,-it gives warmth to the air,life of our life, and element of all elements. O Githa! the flame is the light of the soul, the element everlasting; and it liveth still, when it escapes from our view; it burneth in the shapes to which it passes; it vanishes, but is never extinct. Bulwer's Harold. XLVII. Into ELEGIACS. : Lo! where the flame struggles with the smoke; but it escapes into wreaths, and wheels through the expanse. Its first course to the last does not escape the eyes: how it fell and what its rise was. Now from the midst of the fires it seeks the airs of heaven; again it falls to the earth in dripping shower. But to mortals themselves reason is given not otherwise it lurks in us not brightness, but smoke. It strives, but only diffuses thick darkness. It wishes for light, (and) returns mingled in the vapour of dew. The flame shines in the hearth so long as fuel remains; then roving, it passes away, whither no one can tell. But it lives in the uppermost air, although unseen; the hard flint hides it, the steel will draw it forth. It creeps in the twigs, it clings to the dry foliage; but touched, it shines with restored light. It is |