This many summers in a sea of glory, But far beyond my depth: my high-blown pride Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me. Enter CROMWELL, and stands amazed. Why, how now, Cromwell! What! amazed Cromwell. I have no power to speak, sir. A great man should decline? Nay, an you weep, Cromwell. Wolsey. How does your grace? Why, well: Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell. A still and quiet conscience. The king has cured (I humbly thank his grace,) and from these shoulders, These ruined pillars, out of pity, taken A load would sink a navy-too much honor! O! 'tis a burden, Cromwell, 'tis a burden, Too heavy for a man that hopes for heaven. Cromwell. I am glad your grace has made that right use of it. Wolsey. 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. Cromwell. The heaviest, and the worst, God bless him! Is your displeasure with the king. Wolsey. Cromwell. The next is, that Sir Thomas More is chosen Lord Chancellor in your place. Wolsey. That's somewhat sudden; For truth's sake, and his conscience; that his bones, Cromwell. That Cranmer is returned with welcome Installed lord archbishop of Canterbury. Wolsey. That's news indeed! Cromwell. Last, that the lady Anne Whom the king hath in secrecy long married, Only about her coronation. Wolsey. There was the weight that pulled me down. The king has gone beyond me: all my glories In that one woman I have lost for ever. 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; (I know his noble nature,) not to let Thy hopeful service perish. Good Cromwell, Cromwell. O.my lord! With what a sorrow Cromwell leaves his lord.- Wolsey. Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear Love thyself last : cherish those hearts that hate thee : 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 Crom well! Thou fall'st a blessed martyr. Serve the king; 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 mine own. O Cromwell, Cromwell! Cromwell. Good sir, have patience. Wolsey. So I have. Farewell The hopes of court: my hopes in heaven do dwell. [Exeunt.] C. OUR COUNTRY'S CALL. WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 1. Lay down the ax, fling by the spade : For arms like yours were fitter now; 2. Our country calls; away! away! To where the blood-stream blots the green. Strike to defend the gentlest sway That Time in all his course has seen. See, from a thousand coverts—see Spring the armed foes that haunt her track; 3. Ho! sturdy as the oaks ye cleave, And moved as soon to fear and flight, His serried ranks shall reel before The arm that lays the panther low. 4. And ye who breast the mountain storm A bulwark that no foe can break. The whirlwind; stand in her defense: As rushing squadrons bear ye thence. 5. And ye, whose homes are by her grand Come from the depth of her green land Have swelled them over bank and bourne, 6. And ye who throng, beside the deep, On his long murmuring marge of sand, 7. Few, few were they whose swords of old The grim resolve to guard it well. Blow after blow, till men shall see QUESTIONS.-Is this a descriptive, a narrative, or a pathetic poem? If it is none of these, how will you describe it? Tell exactly how it ought to be read,-with what pitch, force, volume, and quality of voice. First Stanza. Who are called upon to "lay [This poem was written in 1861.] down the ax"? Why? Why is the plow called "the toiling plow"? Why are "the rifle and the bayonetblade" fitter for the arms of these men now? What is "the horseman's crooked brand "? |