Shoots downward, glittering thro' the pure serene Slow travelling with dim eyes suffus'd with tears, To rise before me- Rise like a cloud of incense, from the earth! XXVII.-A Panegyric on Great Britain. HAPPY Britannia! where the Queen of Arts, Inspiring vigour, Liberty abroad Walks, unconfin'd, even to thy farthest cots, And scatters plenty with unsparing hand. Rich is thy soil, and merciful thy clime; Thy streams unfailing in the summer's drought: Unmatch'd thy guardian oaks; thy valleys float With golden waves; and on thy mountains flocks Bleat numberless; while roving round their sides, Bellow the blackening herds in lusty droves. Beneath, thy meadows glow, and rise unquell'd Against the mower's scythe. On every hand Thy villas shine. Thy country teems with wealth; And property assures it to the swain, Pleas'd, and unwearied, in his guarded toil. Full are thy cities with the sons of Art; And trade, and joy, in every busy street, Mingling are heard; even Drudgery himself, As at the car he sweats, or dusty hews The palace stone, looks gay. Thy crowded ports, Where rising masts an endless prospect yield, With labour burn, and echo to the shouts Of hurried sailor, as he hearty waves His last adieu, and, loosening every sheet, THOMSON. XXVIII.-Wolsey and Cromwell. Wol. 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 upon him; 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 shoot; And then he falls, as I do. I have ventur'd, Like little wanton boys, that swim on bladders, These many summers in a sea of glory; But far beyond my depth: my high-blown pride At length broke under me; and now has left me, Weary, and old with service, to the mercy Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me. Vain pomp and glory of the world, I hate ye! I feel my heart new open'd. Oh, how wretched Is that poor man who hangs on princes' favour! There is, betwixt that smile he would aspire to, That sweet aspect of princes, and his ruin, More pangs and fears than war or women have; And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, Never to hope again. Why, how now, Cromwell? Crom. I have no power to speak, Sir. Wol. What, amaz'd At my misfortunes? Can thy spirit wonder Crom. How does you Grace? Wol. Why, well; Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell. I know myself now, and I feel within me, A peace above all earthly dignities; A still and quiet conscience. The king has cur'd me, I humbly thank his Grace; and, from these shoulders, These ruin'd pillars, out of pity taken A load would sink a navy, too much honour. O, 'tis a burthen, Cromwell, 'tis a burthen, Crom. I'm glad your Grace has made that right use of it. Out of a fortitude of soul I feel, T'endure more miseries, and greater far, Crom. The heaviest and the worst Wol. God bless him. Crom. The next is, that Sir Thomas More is chosen. Lord Chancellor in your place. Wol. That's somewhat sudden But he's a learned man. May he continue For truth's sake and his conscience; that his bones, Crom. That Cranmer is return'd with welcome; Crom. Last, that the Lady Anne, Whom the king hath in secrecy long married, Only about her coronation. Wol. There was the weight that pull'd me down: 0 Cromwell, The king has gone beyond me: all my glories In that one woman I have lost for ever. No sun shall ever usher forth my honours, 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, What and how true thou art; he will advance thee; Some little memory of me will stir him, (I know his noble nature) not to let Thy hopeful service perish too. Good Cromwell, Must I then leave you? Must I needs forego Wol. Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention Still in thy right hand carry gentle Peace, To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not. Thy God's, and Truth's; then if thou fall'st, O Cromwell, And pr'ythee lead me in There take an inventory of all I have, To the last penny 'tis the King's. My robe, I dare now call my own. O Cromwell, Cromwell, Had I but serv'd my God with half the zeal I serv'd my King, he would not in mine age Crom. Good Sir, have patience. Wol. So I have. Farewell The hopes of Court! My hopes in heaven do dwell! SHAKESPEARE Containing the more difficult words that occur in the preceding Lessons. (To be got accurately by heart.) A-ban'don, to give up; to forsake. Ac-cord', v to agree; n. agreement. Ac-qui-sition, the thing gained; act A-dopt', to choose a son; to pursue a scheme. A-droit', dexterous, skilful. Alley, a narrow passage. [place. Al-lo-ca'tion, assigning to its proper | An'ec-dote, incident. Ap-palling, frightful; hideous. building. [any thing is acted. ernment in which the nobles have the chief power; nobility. Ar'ma-ment, a naval force. Ar-ray', v. to put in order; to deck n. dress; order of battle. Ar'se-nal, a magazine of military stores. Ar-tic'u-late-ly, distinctly. A-skance', sideways, obliquely. As-sail'ant, one who attacks. As-sault', v. to attack; to invade; n. an attack, storm. As-so-ci-a'tion, union; society. As-sumption, the act of taking any thing to one's self; a supposition. A-sylum, a refuge, a place of safety. [for. A-tone', to expiate; to make amends At'ti-tude, posture, gesture. At-tract', to draw to; to allure. At'tri-bute, quality. At-tribute. to ascribe, to impute. At-trition, the act of wearing things by rubbing. Au'di-ble, that may be heard. |