The Oracles are dumb; No voice or hideous hum Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving.

Apollo from his shrine Can no more divine, With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving.

No nightly trance, or breathed spell, Inspires the pale-ey"d priest from the prophetic cell.

20.

The lonely mountains o"er, And the resounding sh.o.r.e, A voice of weeping heard, and loud lament; From haunted spring, and dale Edg"d with poplar pale, The parting Genius is with sighing sent; With flower-inwoven tresses torn The Nymphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets mourn.

21.

In consecrated earth, And on the holy hearth, The Lars, and Lemures, moan with midnight plaint; In urns, and altars round, A drear and dying sound Affrights the Flamens at their service quaint; And the chill marble seems to sweat, While each peculiar Power forgoes his wonted seat.

22.

Peor, and Baalim, Forsake their temples dim, With that twice-batter"d G.o.d of Palestine; And mooned Ashtaroth, Heaven"s queen and mother both, Now sits not girt with tapers" holy shine: The Libyc Hammon shrinks his horn; In vain the Tyrian maids their wounded Thammuz mourn.

23.

And sullen Moloch, fled, Hath left in shadows dread, His burning idol all of blackest hue In vain with cymbals" ring They call the grisly king, In dismal dance about the furnace blue; The brutish G.o.ds of Nile as fast, Isis, and Orus, and the dog Anubis, haste.

24.

Nor is Osiris seen In Memphian grove or green, Trampling the unshower"d gra.s.s with lowings loud; Nor can he be at rest Within his sacred chest; Naught but profoundest h.e.l.l can be his shroud; In vain, with timbrell"d anthems dark, The sable-stoled sorcerers bear his worshipp"d ark.

25.

He feels from Juda"s land The dreaded Infant"s hand; The rays of Bethlehem blind his dusky eyn; Nor all the G.o.ds beside Longer dare abide, Not Typhon huge ending in snaky twine: Our Babe, to show his G.o.dhead true, Can in his swaddling bands control the d.a.m.ned crew.

26.

So, when the sun in bed, Curtain"d with cloudy red, Pillows his chin upon an orient wave, The flocking shadows pale Troop to the infernal jail, Each fetter"d ghost slips to his several grave; And the yellow-skirted fays Fly after the night-steeds, leaving their moon-lov"d maze.

27.

But see! the Virgin blest Hath laid her Babe to rest.

Time is our tedious song should here have ending: Heaven"s youngest-teemed star, Hath fix"d her polish"d car, Her sleeping Lord with handmaid lamp attending; And all about the courtly stable Bright-harness"d Angels sit in order serviceable.

X. CHARACTER OF LORD FALKLAND.

LORD CLARENDON.--1608-1674.

_From_ HISTORY OF THE REBELLION.

In this unhappy battle [of Newbury] was slain the Lord Viscount Falkland; a person of such prodigious parts of learning and knowledge, of that inimitable sweetness and delight in conversation, of so flowing and obliging a humanity and goodness to mankind, and of that primitive simplicity and integrity of life, that if there were no other brand upon this odious and accursed civil war, than that single loss, it must be most infamous, and execrable to all posterity.

Before this parliament, his condition of life was so happy that it was hardly capable of improvement. Before he came to be twenty years of age, he was master of a n.o.ble fortune, which descended to him by the gift of a grandfather, without pa.s.sing through his father or mother, who were then both alive, and not well enough contented to find themselves pa.s.sed by in the descent. His education for some years had been in Ireland, where his father was lord-deputy; so that, when he returned into England, to the possession of his fortune, he was unentangled with any acquaintance or friends, which usually grow up by the custom of conversation; and therefore was to make a pure election of his company; which he chose by other rules than were prescribed to the young n.o.bility of that time. And it cannot be denied, though he admitted some few to his friendship for the agreeableness of their natures, and their undoubted affection to him, that his familiarity and friendship, for the most part, was with men of the most eminent and sublime parts, and of untouched reputation in point of integrity; and such men had a t.i.tle to his bosom.

He was a great cherisher of wit, and fancy, and good parts in any man; and, if he found them clouded with poverty or want, a most liberal and bountiful patron towards them, even above his fortune; of which, in those administrations, he was such a dispenser, as, if he had been trusted with it to such uses, and if there had been the least of vice in his expense, he might have been thought too prodigal. He was constant and pertinacious in whatsoever he resolved to do, and not to be wearied by any pains that were necessary to that end. And, therefore, having once resolved not to see London, which he loved above all places, till he had perfectly learned the Greek tongue, he went to his own house in the country, and pursued it with that indefatigable industry, that it will not be believed in how short a time he was master of it, and accurately read all the Greek historians.

In this time, his house being within little more than ten miles of Oxford, he contracted familiarity and friendship with the most polite and accurate men of that university; who found such an immenseness of wit, and such a solidity of judgment in him, so infinite a fancy, bound in by a most logical ratiocination, such a vast knowledge, that he was not ignorant in anything, yet such an excessive humility, as if he had known nothing, that they frequently resorted and dwelt with him, as in a college situated in a purer air; so that his house was a university in a less volume; whither they came not so much for repose as study; and to examine and refine those grosser propositions, which laziness and consent made current in vulgar conversation....

He was superior to all those pa.s.sions and affections which attend vulgar minds, and was guilty of no other ambition than of knowledge, and to be reputed a lover of all good men; and that made him too much a contemner of those arts, which must be indulged in the transactions of human affairs....

He had a courage of the most clear and keen temper, and so far from fear, that he seemed not without some appet.i.te of danger; and therefore, upon any occasion of action, he always engaged his person in those troops which he thought, by the forwardness of the commanders, to be most like to be farthest engaged; and in all such encounters, he had about him an extraordinary cheerfulness, without at all affecting the execution that usually attended them; in which he took no delight, but took pains to prevent it, where it was not by resistance made necessary: insomuch that at Edge-hill, when the enemy was routed, he was like to have incurred great peril, by interposing to save those who had thrown away their arms, and against whom, it may be, others were more fierce for their having thrown them away: so that a man might think he came into the field chiefly out of curiosity to see the face of danger, and charity to prevent the shedding of blood. Yet, in his natural inclination, he acknowledged he was addicted to the profession of a soldier; and shortly after he came to his fortune, before he was of age, he went into the Low Countries, with a resolution of procuring command, and to give himself up to it; from which he was diverted by the complete inactivity of that summer; so he returned into England, and shortly after entered upon that vehement course of study we mentioned before, till the first alarm from the north; then again he made ready for the field, and though he received some repulse in the command of a troop of horse, of which he had a promise, he went a volunteer with the earl of Ess.e.x.

From the entrance into this unnatural war, his natural cheerfulness and vivacity grew clouded, and a kind of sadness and dejection of spirit stole upon him, which he had never been used to; yet being one of those who believed that one battle would end all differences, and that there would be so great a victory on one side, that the other would be compelled to submit to any conditions from the victor--which supposition and conclusion generally sunk into the minds of most men, and prevented the looking after many advantages that might then have been laid hold of--he resisted those indispositions. But after the king"s return from Brentford, and the furious resolution of the two Houses not to admit any treaty for peace, those indispositions, which had before touched him, grew into a perfect habit of uncheerfulness; and he, who had been so exactly unreserved and affable to all men, that his face and countenance was always present, and vacant, to his company, and held any cloudiness, and less pleasantness of the visage, a kind of rudeness or incivility, became, on a sudden, less communicable; and thence, very sad, pale, and exceedingly affected with the spleen. In his clothes and habit, which he had minded before always with more neatness, and industry, and expense, than is usual to so great a soul, he was not now only incurious, but too negligent; and in his reception of suitors, and the necessary or casual addresses to his place, so quick, and sharp, and severe, that there wanted not some men--strangers to his nature and disposition--who believed him proud and imperious; from which no mortal man was ever more free....

When there was any overture or hope of peace, he would be more erect and vigorous, and exceedingly solicitous to press anything which he thought might promote it; and sitting among his friends, often, after a deep silence, and frequent sighs, would, with a shrill and sad accent, ingeminate the word _Peace, Peace_; and would pa.s.sionately profess, "that the very agony of the war, and the view of the calamities and desolation the kingdom did and must endure, took his sleep from him, and would shortly break his heart." This made some think, or pretend to think, "that he was so much enamoured of peace, that he would have been glad the king should have bought it at any price;" which was a most unreasonable calumny. As if a man, that was himself the most punctual and precise in every circ.u.mstance that might reflect upon conscience or honor, could have wished the king to have committed a trespa.s.s against either....

In the morning before the battle, as always upon action, he was very cheerful, and put himself into the first rank of the Lord Byron"s regiment, then advancing upon the enemy, who had lined the hedges on both sides with musketeers; from whence he was shot with a musket in the lower part of the belly, and in the instant falling from his horse, his body was not found till the next morning; till when, there was some hope he might have been a prisoner; though his nearest friends, who knew his temper, received small comfort from that imagination. Thus fell that incomparable young man, in the four-and-thirtieth year of his age, having so much despatched the true business of life, that the oldest rarely attain to that immense knowledge, and the youngest enter not into the world with more innocency: whosoever leads such a life, needs be the less anxious upon how short warning it is taken from him.

XI. VENI, CREATOR SPIRITUS.

JOHN DRYDEN.--1631-1700.

Creator Spirit, by whose aid The world"s foundations first were laid, Come, visit every pious mind; Come, pour thy joys on humankind; From sin and sorrow set us free, And make thy temples worthy thee.

O source of uncreated light, The Father"s promis"d Paraclete!

Thrice holy fount, thrice holy fire, Our hearts with heavenly love inspire; Come, and thy sacred unction bring To sanctify us, while we sing.

Plenteous of grace, descend from high, Rich in thy sevenfold energy!

Thou strength of his Almighty hand, Whose power does heaven and earth command; Proceeding Spirit, our defence, Who dost the gift of tongues dispense, And crown"st thy gift with eloquence.

Refine and purge our earthy parts; But, oh, inflame and fire our hearts!

Our frailties help, our vice control, Submit the senses to the soul; And when rebellious they are grown, Then lay thy hand, and hold them down.

Chase from our minds the infernal foe, And peace, the fruit of Love, bestow; And lest our feet should step astray, Protect and guide us in the way.

Make us eternal truths receive, And practise all that we believe: Give us thy self, that we may see The Father and the Son by thee.

Immortal honor, endless fame, Attend the Almighty Father"s name: The Saviour Son be glorified, Who for lost man"s redemption died: And equal adoration be, Eternal Paraclete, to thee!