ive?
None live, but such as should die? shall we meet
With none but ghostly fathers in the street?
Grief makes me rail; sorrow will force its way;
And showers of tears, tempestuous sighs best lay. 90
The tongue may fail; but overflowing eyes
Will weep out lasting streams of elegies.

But thou, O virgin-widow, left alone,
Now thy beloved, heaven-ravish'd spouse is gone,
Whose skilful sire in vain strove to apply
Medicines, when thy balm was no remedy,--
With greater than Platonic love, O wed
His soul, though not his body, to thy bed:
Let that make thee a mother; bring thou forth
The ideas of his virtue, knowledge, worth; 100
Transcribe the original in new copies, give
Hastings o' the better part: so shall he live
In's nobler half; and the great grandsire be
Of an heroic divine progeny:
An issue, which to eternity shall last,
Yet but the irradiations which he cast.
Erect no mausoleums: for his best
Monument is his spouse's marble breast.

* * * * *

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 1: 'Lord Hastings:' the nobleman herein lamented, was styled
Henry Lord Hastings, son to Ferdinand Earl of Huntingdon. He died before
his father in 1649, being then in his twentieth year, and on the day
preceding that which had been fixed for his marriage.]

[Footnote 2: 'Archimedes:' a famous geometrician, who was killed at the
taking of Syracuse, in the 542d year of Rome. He made a glass sphere,
wherein the motions of the heavenly bodies were wonderfully described.]

[Footnote 3: 'Ptolemy:' Claudius Ptolemaeus, a celebrated mathematician
in the reign of M. Aurelius Antoninus.]

[Footnote 4: 'Tycho:' Tycho Brahe]

* * * * *

HEROIC STANZAS ON THE DEATH OF OLIVER CROMWELL,

WRITTEN AFTER HIS FUNERAL.

1 And now 'tis time; for their officious haste,
Who would before have borne him to the sky,
Like eager Romans, ere all rites were past,
Did let too soon the sacred eagle[5] fly.

2 Though our best notes are treason to his fame,
Join'd with the loud applause of public voice;
Since Heaven, what praise we offer to his name,
Hath render'd too authentic by its choice.

3 Though in his praise no arts can liberal be,
Since they, whose muses have the highest flown,
Add not to his immortal memory,
But do an act of friendship to the