1.8, 9. Cromwell die a lift, 5, 1658.

XIII.

TO THE LORD GENERAL CROMWELL.

May 16, 1652.

On the proposals of certain Ministers of the Committee for the
Propagation of the Gospel.

Creston,

CROMWELL, our chief of men, who through a cloud

Not of war only, but detractions rude,
Guided by faith and matchless fortitude,

To peace and truth thy glorious way hast plough'd,
And on the neck of crowned Fortune proud

Hast rear'd God's trophies, and his work pursu'd;
While Darwen stream with blood of Scots imbru'd,
And Dunbar field resounds thy praises loud,

5

$650.

aug. 17,164 And Worcester's laureat wreath. Yet much remains . 5, 1656

To conquer still; Peace hath her victories

No less renown'd than War; new foes arise,
Threat'ning to bind our souls with secular chains:

ΙΟ

Help us to save free conscience from the pawhe Preety

Of hireling wolves, whose gospel is their maw.

XIV.

TO SIR HENRY VANE THE YOUNGER.

(1652?)

VANE, young in years, but in sage counsel old,

Than whom a better senator ne'er held

The helm of Rome, when gowns, not arms, repell'd
The fierce Epirot and the African bold, Kanibal.
Whether to settle peace, or to unfold

The drift of hollow states, hard to be spell'd;
Then to advise how war may best upheld
Move by her two main nerves, iron and gold,

In all her equipage: besides, to know

5

Both spiritual power and civil, what each means,

ΙΟ

What severs each, thou hast learn'd, which few have done. The bounds of either sword to thee we owe:

Therefore on thy firm hand Religion leans
In peace, and reckons thee her eldest son.

XV.

ON HIS BLINDNESS.

(1652?)

WHEN I consider how my light is spent,

Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide,
And that one talent which is death to hide
Lodg'd with me useless, though my soul more bent
To serve therewith my Maker, and present
My true account, lest he returning chide;
'Doth God exact day-labour, light deni'd?'
I fondly ask: but Patience, to prevent

That murmur, soon replies, 'God doth not need
Either man's work, or his own gifts; who best
Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best: his state

Is kingly; thousands at his bidding speed,

And post o'er land and ocean without rest;
They also serve who only stand and wait.'

5

ΙΟ

XVI.

ON THE LATE MASSACRE IN PIEDMONT.

(1655.)

AVENGE, O Lord, thy slaughter'd saints, whose bones
Lie scatter'd on the Alpine mountains cold;
Ev'n them who kept thy truth so pure of old
When all our fathers worshipt stocks and stones
Forget not in thy book record their groans

Who were thy sheep, and in their ancient fold
Slain by the bloody Piemontese that roll'd

Mother with infant down the rocks. Their moans

I. 10- referring to the hooverb, "the blood of the martyre "The seed of the church"

TO CYRIACK SKINNER.

The vales redoubl'd to the hills, and they

To Heav'n. Their martyr'd blood and ashes sow
O'er all th' Italian fields, where still doth sway
The triple tyrant; that from these may grow
A hundredfold, who having learnt thy way,
Early may fly the Babylonian woe.

i.E the wire donoured

XVII.

93

IO

TO CYRIACK SKINNER, UPON HIS BLINDNESS.

(1655?)

CYRIACK, this three-years-day these eyes, though clear
To outward view of blemish or of spot,
Bereft of light, their seeing have forgot;
Nor to their idle orbs doth sight appear

Of sun, or moon, or star, throughout the year;
Or man, or woman. Yet I argue not

Against Heav'ns hand or will, nor bate one jot
Or heart or hope; but still bear up, and steer
Right onward. What supports me, dost thou ask?

5

Conscious ---The conscience, friend, to have lost them overplï'd 10
In liberty's defence, my noble task,

ness

Of which all Europe rings from side to side.

This thought might lead me through this world's vain mask,
Content, though blind, had I no better guide.

Brought to me like Alcestis from the grave,

Whom Jove's great son to her glad husband gave, tuule

Rescu'd from Death by force, though pale and faint.

Mine, as whom washt from spot of child-bed taint

Purification in the old law did save,

And such, as yet once more I trust to have
Full sight of her in Heaven without restraint,

5

Came vested all in white, pure as her mind:
Her face was veil'd; yet to my fancied sight,
Love, sweetness, goodness, in her person shin'd
So clear, as in no face with more delight.

But O as to embrace me she inclin❜d,

I wak'd, she fled, and day brought back my night.

IO

8 Te Wake of Lavy gave to the Van soir, his Protect aut subjecte in Piedmont, in Piedmont, the alternative of

their country in

of leaving
Savoyard troope were cent to

tevenly daye Savoyar enforce the edict

and carries fire

aword in the valleye of Piedmont.

III.

LAST POEMS, 1665-1671.