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The precision of naming takes away from the uniqueness of seeing.

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Cant Keep Away From The Flame

Lonely, lonely, lonely child, crystalline and lace
Wont you walk me awhile, put a smile upon my face
I dont wanna take your love in vain
Gonna keep on coming back again
Beauty leads the full grown child, a rose among the thorns
Like a ray of sunshine, she comes, heaven in my arms
I dont wanna take your love in vain
Gonna keep on coming back again
When I see you smilin
It takes away my pain
Oh, theres no denyin
Cant keep away from the flame
A thousand indian summers, die in desert sands
The moon and lovers shadows, they go slippin through our hands
I dont wanna take your love in vain
Gonna keep on coming back again
I dont wanna take your love in vain
Gonna keep on coming back again

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Elegy XXIV. He Takes Occasion, From the Fate of Eleanor of Bretagne

He Takes Occasion, From the Fate of Eleanor of Bretagne, To Suggest the Imperfect Pleasures of a Solitary Life.


When Beauty mourns, by Fate's injurious doom,
Hid from the cheerful glance of human eye,
When Nature's pride inglorious waits the tomb,
Hard is that heart which checks the rising sigh.

Fair Eleonora! would no gallant mind,
The cause of Love, the cause of Justice, own?
Matchless thy charms, and was no life resign'd
To see them sparkle from their native throne?

Or had fair Freedom's hand unveil'd thy charms,
Well might such brows the regal gem resign;
Thy radiant mien might scorn the guilt of arms,
Yet Albion's awful empire yield to thine.

O shame of Britons! in one sullen tower
She wet with royal tears her daily cell;
She found keen anguish every rose devour;
They sprung, they shone, they faded, and they fell.

Through one dim lattice, fringed with ivy round,
Successive suns a languid radiance threw,
To paint how fierce her angry guardian frown'd,
To mark how fast her waning beauty flew.

This, age might bear; then sated Fancy palls,
Nor warmly hopes what splendour can supply;
Fond Youth incessant mourns if rigid walls
Restrain its listening ear, its curious eye.

Believe me -- the pretence is vain!
This boasted calm that smooths our early day;
For never yet could youthful mind restrain
The alternate pant for pleasure and for praise.

Even me, by shady oak or limpid spring,
Even me, the scenes of polish'd life allure!
Some genius whispers, 'Life is on the wing,
And hard his lot that languishes obscure.

'What though thy riper mind admire no more-
The shining cincture, and the broider'd fold,
Can pierce like lightning thorough the figured ore,
And melt to dross the radiant forms of gold.

'Furs, ermines, rods, may well attract thy scorn,
The futile presents of capricious Power!
But wit, but worth, the public sphere adorn,
And who but envies then the social hour?

'Can Virtue, careless of her pupil's meed,
Forget how -- sustains the shepherd's cause?
Content in shades to tune a lonely reed,
Nor join the sounding pæan of applause?

For public haunts, impell'd by Britain's weal,
See Grenville quit the Muse's favourite ease;
And shall not swains admire his noble zeal?
Admiring praise, admiring strive to please?

'Life,' says the sage, 'affords no bliss sincere,
And courts and cells in vain our hopes renew:
But, ah! where Grenvile charms the listening ear,
'Tis hard to think the cheerless maxim true.

'The groves may smile; the rivers gently glide;
Soft through the vale resound the lonesome lay;
Even thickets yield delight, if taste preside,
But can they please, when Lyttleton's away?

'Pure as the swain's the breast of -- glows;
Ah! were the shepherd's phrase, like his, refined!
But, how improved the generous dictate flows
Through the clear medium of a polish'd mind!

'Happy the youths who, warm with Britain's love,
Her inmost wish in -- periods hear!
Happy that in the radiant circle move,
Attendant orbs, where Lonsdale gilds the sphere!

'While rural faith, and every polish'd art,
Each friendly charm, in -- conspire,
From public scenes all pensive must you part;
All joyless to the greenest fields retire!

'Go, plaintive Youth! no more by fount or stream,
Like some lone halcyon, social pleasures shun;
Go, dare the light, enjoy its cheerful beam,
And hail the bright procession of the sun.

'Then, cover'd by thy ripen'd shades, resume
The silent walk, no more by passion tost;
Then seek thy rustic haunts, the dreary gloom,
Where every art, that colours life, is lost.'

In vain! the listening Muse attends in vain!
Restraints in hostile bands her motions wait-
Yet will I grieve, and sadden all my strain,
When injured Beauty mourns the Muse's fate.

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Like The Galaxies The World Is Moving Away From Me

Like the galaxies
The world is moving away from me
I struggle to retain my place
As so many many things I know little about
And will know less about
Accelerate away from me

Growing old is being left behind
And every day discovering new distances
One will never be able to reach.

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Far Away From The Morning Light

FAR AWAY FROM THE MORNING LIGHT

Far away from the morning light
The poem at last came-
Suddenly after rest
Effortlessly
Joyfully
As if it itself knew it wanted to be.

The poem came
And with it I came alive
And knew
Within me always
So long as I can breathe and feel and think
There will be Poetry.

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Oh Poem Of The Morning - Take Me Away From My Private World

OH POEM OF THE MORNING/ TAKE ME AWAY FROM MY PRIVATE WORLD

Oh poem of the morning
Take me away from my private world
Of complaints and sorrows
Griefs and fears-
Let me see the blue- sky innocent
As before we understood it scientifically
Let me feel the fresh wind
As it touches the grass with kindness
Let me humbly sense
All these small flowers on my path
As dreams-
Let me believe again
Hope again
As I did once long ago
When I did not know I was young.

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Time Takes Me Away From Myself

TIME TAKES ME AWAY FROM MYSELF

Time takes me away from myself
Money also-

It is too late to do what I could have done forty years ago
Still I must go on
Faltering, fearing, wondering whether the health or the money
Will run out first or somehow together-

Old and coughing
Sick and unafraid-

Forcing myself to try and move
Even if only on a page-

Time takes me away from myself
And when I go 'all goes' as the man said
Time takes me away from myself
And I write anyway.

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Taking An Attention Away From The Facts

Everyday there is 'something' else introduced
Many are solicited,
To advocate the supporting of ineffectiveness.
With a taking an attention away from the facts.
In the hopes to distract,
Those already hypnotized by delusions.

Yet a consciousness in most still lingers,
Hindering a complete numbing of minds done.
And everyday there is 'something' else introduced,
To seduce with more nonsense...
From limited minds to produce with wishes to convince,
More divisions within those already scattered.

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Away From The Home

Non-thinking was a tremendous effort,
I scratched the years one by one.
Between you and me was a river,
it has gone now.
Are you beyond the imagination?
My eyelids bleed,
and there is a painful punctuation.

Give me fireflies,
it is too dark here.
The future tense,
is not relevant now.
Present is very tense.
Books fail to open the lyrics.
I am lonely in the prints.
Life makes a big leap
for the sake of splash.

I place the candles in the wind,
away from the home,
which never was.
Going where the memories,
had seedless interior.
Emptiness sings for space
refuses to be filled in.

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(Further Away) From The Year Two Thousand and Eight

As we move further away,
From the year two thousand and eight.
As is the custom to celebrate it.
There will be more who will come,
To appreciate the year...
They were shakened awake.
Realizing they were not forced,
To participate...
In satisfying a temporary greed,
Nibbled with a teasing eventually satiated.
And...
Many caught up in the feeding of this feast...
Wished they had more patience and waited!
To examine the crooks who gleefully stuffed them...
With a wonderful presentation of deceit on their plates!

'Hmmm...
Would you pass me more lies, please!
What do you mean 'which ones'?
The best ones,
Of course.
What do you mean...
You've 'run out' of 'those'?
They were delicious!
I demand an explanation.
Immediately! '

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Away from the thunder

Son of the wicked. Or so you wonder.By the willow tree, and away from the thunder.Have you ever dared to hold out your hand to me? I doubt you think i might judge thee. I cannot say, though I am not pure. Their cruel world is tainted, there is no cure.We are not of this world. As we both see it. We were sent to undersatnd, not to fit. But you Gabriel, are far more worth than I. Rose, a name so simple never amounts to anything. Gabriel, so strong willed. While I, so fragile am nothing. Our paths cross in a holocaust. we are safe, but others lost. Gabriel, one day you'll tell me the things most private. You don't say much. For you are completely silent We lie face to face. to comprehend, to wonder. Hiding away, finding our peace. Under our willow tree and away from the thunder.

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The Chemical Poem... 'Being Away From My Home

Distance; Ain't just a physical term..
It's got me here, provided my decision was firm..
Away From FRIENDS, away from fun..
I'm Smothered here like a monsoon sun..

The petals of flowers is my friend pie,
A petal is cut; I said GoodBye..
The petal's crushed and is being stale
observing every1 enjoying from its mighty hell..

Prior to this, I was there, wasn't so silent..
Befriending Capacity was as carbon, I was tetravalent
I'm neon now, no unpaired electron..
Sitting Right there, I'm Damn alone

So, it's goi'na be the feelings' emission..
BZA sealed; it's an all new collection..
Here being is meant to be a bookworm..
All Alone being away from my home..

God, ya did wrong as removal, choosing me..
Have they formed a cation*, losing me?
And I've failed to find a valent atom here..
Just got endless Feelings to bear...

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The Times We Now Live That Takes Away Breaths

In the disarray of these days we now face,
I keep my concentration focused upon my deeds.
And less upon comments made by others,
About me...
My deeds.
And what beliefs about me they whisper,
To others giving them time to listen.

I could only wish people like that...
A less traumatic awakening.
Since I seek the company,
Of those few who are awake.

To mature AND awaken to accept,
The times we now live that takes away breaths...
In a neck breaking speed,
Is here.
And so blessed is the feeling,
To have one's peace of mind intact!
That's a fact!

And 'that' takes a long time in development.
It comes with experiencing life and not rehearsing it...
As some would think.
Or kept practiced as if to impress.
As some still do!

Life is much too precious to accept foolishness.
And that is...
But just one of the many of the many many lessons...
I have had to learn.

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I Was Away From The Poems

I was away from the Poems
I could not hear them within myself -
There were many sounds
Many different kinds of words
And speakers and ranters and shouters
And all kinds of false music also
And even beautiful music and prayer-

But there were no poems
I could hear no poems
And within myself suddenly there came such ‘longing’
And such ‘anxiety’-
‘Where is the Poem? And where can I possibly be if there is none?
And how can I find it again? ’

And all I needed I thought was some long long long silence
Some being alone and away
Some forever waiting to hear
Some listening to the true voice
And then somehow somehow the Poems would come again –

And here here here it is now
The poem
Quiet and sure and happy and light and singing
As if it were the one music God wanted me to hear
And repeat always as if it truly were mine and yours
Dear imagined reader,
Alone.

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Away From The Camera

Away From the Camera.

In the Bay of Bengal, near Tripura, a tank ship ran
aground, an old ship that had been economical for
its owner, carrying crude for a hungry west and
crewed by low paid seamen. And she was sold to
the people who would tear ships apart, like French
avant-garde butchers with hearts of frozen rocks.
Squall in the bay, the ship broke anchor and, like
a horse that seeks grassland, she sought high seas.
Alas she had oil onboard must be caught before spill
washed on sandy shore. Cowboy tugboats rode out
lassoed the old lady back to the place of destruction.
It is in the Bay of Bengal the infidel drowned Bin Laden,
in moonlight his coffin is a silvery specter in the bay.
It drifted to shores of New Jersey, on the voyage made
a devil´s pact with sandy storm; revenge for those who
dare laugh in the face of Islam. For her crew this meant
little, but pale memories of peace when dolphins played
on cobalt sea, and grown men had hearts of poetry.

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Away From The Sun

Its down to this
Ive got to make this life make sense
Can anyone do what Ive done
I missed life
I missed the colours of the world
Can anyone go where I am
cause now again Ive found myself
So far down, away from the sun
That shines into the darkest place
Im so far down, away from the sun again
Away from the sun again
Im over this
Im tired of living in the dark
Can anyone see me down here
The feelings gone
Theres nothing left to lift me up
Back into the world Ive known
cause now again Ive found myself
So far down, away from the sun
That shines into the darkest place
Im so far down, away from the sun
That shines the life away from me
To find my way back into the arms
That care about the ones like me
Im so far down, away from the sun again
Its down to this
Ive got to make this life make sense
And now I cant do what Ive done
And now again Ive found myself
So far down, away from the sun
That shines the life away from me
cause now again Ive found myself
So far down, away from the sun
That shines into the darkest place
Im so far down, away from the sun
That shines the life away from me
To find my way back into the arms
That care about the ones like me
Im so far down, away from the sun again

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Turned Away From The Rough Stuff

a-When I...
Turned away from the rough stuff.
My mind was tainted and a bit corrupt.
I had decided I had had enough,
And if I had any luck...
Only bad would show up.

a-When I...
Turned away from the rough stuff.
My mind was tainted and a bit corrupt.
I had decided I had had enough,
And if I had any luck...
Only bad would show up.

And it seemed like a habit I had,
That kept me attached to bad like that.
Grabbing to attract when I laid on my back...
With a feeling of an itch I had to scratch.

a-When I...
Turned away from the rough stuff.
My mind was tainted and a bit corrupt.
I had decided I had had enough,
And if I had any luck...
Only bad would show up.

Oh-oh-I,
Turned away from the rough stuff.
My mind was tainted and a bit corrupt.
I had decided I had had enough,
And if I had any luck...
Only bad would show up.

And it seemed like a habit I had,
That kept me attached to bad like that.
Grabbing to attract when I laid on my back...
With a feeling of an itch I had to scratch.

Bad luck!
It had me feeling in a deep rut.
Bad luck...
I got stuck but I didn't give up.
Bad luck!
It had me feeling in a deep rut.
Bad luck...
I got stuck but I didn't give up.

And it seemed like a habit I had,
That kept me attached to bad like that.
Grabbing to attract when I laid on my back...
With a feeling of an itch I had to scratch.

Oh-oh-I,
Turned away from the rough stuff.
My mind was tainted and a bit corrupt.
I had decided I had had enough,
And if I had any luck...
Only bad would show up.

Bad luck!
It had me feeling in a deep rut.
Bad luck...
I got stuck but I didn't give up.
Bad luck!
It had me feeling in a deep rut.
Bad luck...
I got stuck but I didn't give up.

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Away from the scene

It is not fleeing away from the scene
Fear for life as such is never seen
Man may run miles together to escape dragnet
Else he has to loose the life and will not be allowed to let

In democracy, day time murders take place
There is clear and visible mad race
No one can get justice in stipulated time
Freedom is curtailed and liberty crushed sometimes

Where do you go and raise your voice?
Who cares for your cry in wilderness for promises?
Why not keep some loop holes and misses?
Later you have nothing left as traces

This is mockery of system and played for self interest
Draconian rule persist and even termed as best
We know how it strangulates ordinary person
Pushed in gallows for unknown reasons

Properties may be looted and houses burn
Can be termed as hooligan’s act and may take ugly turn
Where life can be played into mad hands
As politicians can murder and at the same time play as friends

Some of the people are truly dedicated and they have reasons
We should see larger cause and evaluate them as right persons
It will be futile to loose a life inn struggle for nothing
Even many patriots have fled the scene and taken refuge for something

Innocents are murdered and women, children are molested
Many good words are said and matter finally rested
We have lost moral rights to protest as true champion
As we now take the refuge under the name of religion

We can’t call our system as civilized forum
Where we can’t maintain good decorum
Forces must be resorted to bare minimum
In extreme cases justification can be given for maximum

Freedom and liberty can’t be taken as privilege
It must come naturally to us as a heritage
We have given enough of blood for peaceful living
Its principles are meant for adoption and believing

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Patrick White

A Moment Away From The World, Please

A moment away from the world, please.
Denude me of this coat of killer bees.
I have endured its agony long enough
to know there's not much honey in a stinging nettle.
This kind of pain doesn't break into flowers.
The stars have been telling me that for years.
The darkness doesn't ask for a sacrifice
and you can tell by the New England asters
the light doesn't treat them like martyrs at a crossroads
between the high and the low. You just have to look
at how wide-eyed the day lilies are
even when they're dreaming to see
the sun doesn't burn their eyes out with its blazing
and their tangerine goblets are always full.

Drain these toxic squint-eyed metals out of my blood
but don't ban me to the slogans of a religion
when what I need is an environmental protection agency
with soul, instead of being buried under
this avalanche of pebbles in a gold rush of cornerstones
like a seven thousand year old skeleton
of an adolescent Archaic Indian by the Straits of Belle Isle,
as if everyone in the world had lain their head on my chest
as a place to rest, or they were looking for a heartbeat,
or they wanted to make sure I never rose from my grave again.

Free my metaphors from these chain gangs of d.n.a.
I've spent most of my afterlives here
and I'm not looking to be paroled or escape,
I just want out. Make a chrysalis out of a fortune-cookie,
not a straitjacket, and free me of all this spiritual punctuation
as if thousands of dragonflies were drying their wings
on the eyelids of the waterlilies without any regard for grammar.
Let me flame out like a meteor in the upper atmosphere
as a sign of what I was dying to say and if
you're going to embrace me because you love me so much
do it like space, so I'm never out of it, but there's
lots of room for the galaxies and I swear you do that
I'll open the lockets of the black holes
in the inner core of their hearts, and show you
whose picture is inside of them. Leave me alone
with the inconceivable awhile to listen to the musings
of the unnamed as she washes her hair like a lyric
in her own tears, and sings to herself like a willow
that has been made beautiful by suffering
that has finally lifted its heavy veil of tribulation
from the unmapped mystery in the eyes that remind the stars
of why they're shining in the first place.

Amor vincit omnia. It said in big gold letters
on a baby blue banner tacked to the wall by doves
above the minister's pulpit in the First Centennial United Church
I was pressed into for ten bucks a month when I was a kid,
one of the myriad ways, my ingenious Catholic mother
kept us fed. Love conquers all. I suppose.
But then I was never on a crusade against it to begin with
and though I'm an infidel, I'm not religious about it.
And I've never lived my life as if
I had to close the gates of the city at night
and if love ever wanted anything from me
all it ever had to do was ask, regardless of the recipient.
But that doesn't mean I'm not infernal enough
to know how to hammer swords out of the bell-towers of my defeat
whenever anyone speaks to me about conquest.

Free. Free. Free. Freedom deeper than sorrows.
Freedom more expansive than bliss. Freedom
the invisible gift we're all born clutching in our pudginess.
Like a butterfly that lands on your finger.
A shooting star with your name on it that took aim
and missed. A poem that lands in your lap like a maple key.
Or comes like words to the tree like birds in the morning.
Or shovels you like coal into the mouth of a dragon
brutally wise in the ways of diamonds, and in its claws,
the mercy of scalpels. The compassion of rain
from an ocean of awareness. Free to change
as life would have it without any notion
of betterment or reform. Each as they are, unmaimed.
Freedom the only holiness. Not a state of mind
at absolute Kelvin, motionless entropy,
but dynamic energy creatively shaping
the world out of itself like a child making up a game
when she's alone, to amuse herself when no one's watching,
whisper secrets she confides to her own ear
like the sea to a shell on a deserted beach
without a lighthouse demoralizing the mermaids.

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Fly Away From Here

Fly away from here
(frederickson/chapman)
Gotta find a way
Yeah, I cant wait another day
Aint nothin gonna change
If we stay round here
Gotta do what it takes
Cuz its all in our hands
We all make mistakes
Yeah, but its never too late
To start again, take another breath
And say another prayer
And fly away from here
Anywhere, yeah, I dont care
Well just fly away from here
Our hopes and dreams are
Out there somewhere
Wont let time pass us by
Well just fly
If this life gets any harder now
It aint ,no, never mind
You got me by your side
And any time you want
Yeah, we can catch a train and
Find a better place
Yeah, cuz we wont let nothin
Or no one keep gettin us down
Maybe you and i
Can pack our bags and hit the sky
And fly away from here
Anywhere, yeah I dont care
Well just fly away from here
Our hopes and dreams are out there somewhere
Wont let time pass us by
Well just fly
Do you see a bluer sky now?
You can have a better life now
Open your eyes
Cuz no one here can ever stop us
They can try but we wont let them
No way
Maybe you and i
Can pack our bags and say goodbye
And fly away from here
Anywhere, honey, I dont care
Well just fly away from here
Our hopes and dreams are out there somewhere
Fly away from here
Yeah anywhere honey
I dont I dont I dont care
Well just fly...

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The Death of Cromwell

A Poem upon the Death of His Late Highness the Lord Protector

That Providence which had so long the care
Of Cromwell's head, and numbered every hair,
Now in itself (the glass where all appears)
Had seen the period of his golden years:
And thenceforh only did attend to trace
What death might least so fair a life deface.

The people, which what most they fear esteem,
Death when more horrid, so more noble deem,
And blame the last act, like spectators vain,
Unless the prince whom they applaud be slain.
Nor fate indeed can well refuse that right
To those that lived in war, to die in fight.

But long his valour none had left that could
Endanger him, or clemency that would.
And he whom Nature all for peace had made,
But angry heaven unto war had swayed,
And so less useful where he most desired,
For what he least affected was admired,
Deservèd yet an end whose every part,
Should speak the wondrous softness of his heart.

To Love and Grief the fatal writ was 'signed;
(Those nobler weaknesses of human kind,
From which those powers that issued the decree,
Although immortal, found they were not free),
That they, to whom his breast still open lies,
In gentle passions should his death disguise:
And leave succeeding ages cause to mourn,
As long as Grief shall weep, or Love shall burn.

Straight does a slow and languishing disease
Eliza, Nature's and his darling, seize.
Her when an infant, taken with her charms,
He oft would flourish in his mighty arms,
And, lest their force the tender burden wrong,
Slacken the vigour of his muscles strong;
Then to the Mother's breast her softly move,
Which while she drained of milk, she filled with love.
But as with riper years her virtue grew,
And every minute adds a lustre new,
When with meridian height her beauty shined,
And thorough that sparkled her fairer mind,
When she with smiles serene in words discreet
His hidden soul at ever turn could meet;
Then might y'ha' daily his affection spied,
Doubling that knot which destiny had tied,
While they by sense, not knowing, comprehend
How on each other both their fates depend.
With her each day the pleasing hours he shares,
And at her aspect calms his growing cares;
Or with a grandsire's joy her children sees
Hanging about her neck or at his knees.
Hold fast, dear infants, hold them both or none;
This will not stay when once the other's gone.

A silent fire now wastes those limbs of wax,
And him within his tortured image racks.
So the flower withering which the garden crowned,
The sad root pines in secret under ground.
Each groan he doubled and each sigh he sighed,
Repeated over to the restless night.
No trembling string composed to numbers new,
Answers the touch in notes more sad, more true.
She, lest he grieve, hides what she can her pains,
And he to lessen hers his sorrow feigns:
Yet both perceived, yet both concealed their skills,
And so diminishing increased their ills:
That whether by each other's grief they fell,
Or on their own redoubled, none can tell.

And now Eliza's purple locks were shorn,
Where she so long her Father's fate had worn:
And frequent lightning to her soul that flies,
Divides the air, and opens all the skies:
And now his life, suspended by her breath,
Ran out impetuously to hasting death.
Like polished mirrors, so his steely breast
Had every figure of her woes expressed,
And with the damp of her last gasp obscured,
Had drawn such stains as were not to be cured.
Fate could not either reach with single stroke,
But the dear image fled, the mirror broke.

Who now shall tell us more of mournful swans,
Of halcyons kind, or bleeding pelicans?
No downy breast did e'er so gently beat,
Or fan with airy plumes so soft an heat.
For he no duty by his height excused,
Nor, though a prince, to be a man refused:
But rather than in his Eliza's pain
Not love, not grieve, would neither live nor reign:
And in himself so oft immortal tried,
Yet in compassion of another died.

So have I seen a vine, whose lasting age
Of many a winter hath survived the rage,
Under whose shady tent men every year
At its rich blood's expense their sorrow cheer,
If some dear branch where it extends its life
Chance to be pruned by an untimely knife,
The parent-tree unto the grief succeeds,
And through the wound its vital humour bleeds,
Trickling in watery drops, whose flowing shape
Weeps that it falls ere fixed into a grape.
So the dry stock, no more that spreading vine,
Frustrates the autumn and the hopes of wine.

A secret cause does sure those signs ordain
Foreboding princes' falls, and seldom vain.
Whether some kinder powers that wish us well,
What they above cannot prevent foretell;
Or the great world do by consent presage,
As hollow seas with future tempests rage;
Or rather heaven, which us so long foresees,
Their funerals celebrates while it decrees.
But never yet was any human fate
By Nature solemnized with so much state.
He unconcerned the dreadful passage crossed;
But, oh, what pangs that death did Nature cost!

First the great thunder was shot off, and sent
The signal from the starry battlement.
The winds receive it, and its force outdo,
As practising how they could thunder too;
Out of the binder's hand the sheaves they tore,
And thrashed the harvest in the airy floor;
Or of huge trees, whose growth with his did rise,
The deep foundations opened to the skies.
Then heavy show'rs the wingèd tempests lead,
And pour the deluge o'er the chaos' head.
The race of warlike horses at his tomb
Offer themselves in many a hecatomb;
With pensive head towards the ground they fall,
And helpless languish at the tainted stall.
Numbers of men decrease with pains unknown,
And hasten, not to see his death, their own.
Such tortures all the elements unfixed,
Troubled to part where so exactly mixed.
And as through air his wasting spirits flowed,
The universe laboured beneath their load.

Nature, it seemed with him would Nature vie;
He with Eliza. It with him would die,
He without noise still travelled to his end,
As silent suns to meet the night descend.
The stars that for him fought had only power
Left to determine now his final hour,
Which, since they might not hinder, yet they cast
To choose it worthy of his glories past.

No part of time but bare his mark away
Of honour; all the year was Cromwell's day:
But this, of all the most ausicious found,
Twice had in open field him victor crowned:
When up the armèd mountains of Dunbar
He marched, and through deep Severn ending war.
What day should him eternize but the same
That had before immortalized his name?
That so who ere would at his death have joyed,
In their own griefs might find themselves employed;
But those that sadly his departure grieved,
Yet joyed, remebering what he once achieved.
And the last minute his victorious ghost
Gave chase to Ligny on the Belgic coast.
Here ended all his mortal toils: he laid
And slept in place under the laurel shade.

O Cromwell, Heaven's Favourite! To none
Have such high honours from above been shown:
For whom the elements we mourners see,
And heaven itself would the great herald be,
Which with more care set forth his obsequies
Than those of Moses hid from human eyes,
As jealous only here lest all be less,
That we could to his memory express.
Then let us to our course of mourning keep:
Where heaven leads, 'tis piety to weep.
Stand back, ye seas, and shrunk beneath the veil
Of your abyss, with covered head bewail
Your Monarch: we demand not your supplies
To compass in our isle; our tears suffice:
Since him away the dismal tempest rent,
Who once more joined us to the continent;
Who planted England on the Flandric shore,
And stretched our frontier to the Indian ore;
Whose greater truths obscure the fables old,
Whether of British saints or Worthies told;
And in a valour lessening Arthur's deeds,
For holiness the Confessor exceeds.

He first put arms into Religion's hand,
And timorous Conscience unto Courage manned:
The soldier taught that inward mail to wear,
And fearing God how they should nothing fear.
`Those strokes,' he said, `will pierce through all below
Where those that strike from heaven fetch their blow.'
Astonished armies did their flight prepare,
And cities strong were stormèd by his prayer;
Of that, forever Preston's field shall tell
The story, and impregnable Clonmel.
And where the sandy mountain Fenwick scaled,
The sea between, yet hence his prayer prevailed.
What man was ever so in heaven obeyed
Since the commanded sun o'er Gideon stayed?
In all his wars needs must he triumph when
He conquered God still ere he fought with men:

Hence, though in battle none so brave or fierce,
Yet him the adverse steel could never pierce.
Pity it seemed to hurt him more that felt
Each wound himself which he to others dealt;
Danger itself refusing to offend
So loose an enemy, so fast a friend.

Friendship, that sacred virtue, long does claim
The first foundation of his house and name:
But within one its narrow limits fall,
His tenderness extended unto all.
And that deep soul through every channel flows,
Where kindly nature loves itself to lose.
More strong affections never reason served,
Yet still affected most what best deserved.
If he Eliza loved to that degree,
(Though who more worthy to be loved than she?)
If so indulgent to his own, how dear
To him the children of the highest were?
For her he once did nature's tribute pay:
For these his life adventured every day:
And 'twould be found, could we his thoughts have cast,
Their griefs struck deepest, if Eliza's last.

What prudence more than human did he need
To keep so dear, so differing minds agreed?
The worser sort, as conscious of their ill,
Lie weak and easy to the ruler's will;
But to the good (too many or too few)
All law is useless, all reward is due.
Oh ill-advised, if not for love, for shame,
Spare yet your own, if you neglect his fame;
Lest others dare to think your zeal a mask,
And you to govern, only heaven's task.

Valour, religion, friendship, prudence died
At once with him, and all that's good beside;
And we death's refuse, nature's dregs, confined
To loathsome life, alas! are left behind.
Where we (so once we used) shall now no more
To fetch the day, press about his chamber door--
From which he issued with that awful state,
It seemd Mars broke through Janus' double gate,
Yet always tempered with an air so mild,
No April suns that e'er so gently smiled--
No more shall hear that powerful language charm,
Whose force oft spared the labour of his arm:
No more shall follow where he spent the days
In war, in counsel, or in prayer and praise,
Whose meanest acts he would himself advance,
As ungirt David to the ark did dance.
All, all is gone of our or his delight
In horses fierce, wild deer, or armour bright;
Francisca fair can nothing now but weep,
Nor with soft notes shall sing his cares asleep.

I saw him dead. A leaden slumber lies
And mortal sleep over those wakeful eyes:
Those gentle rays under the lids were fled,
Which through his looks that piercing sweetness shed;
That port which so majestic was and strong,
Loose and deprived of vigour, stretched along:
All withered, all discoloured, pale and wan--
How much another thing, nor more that man?
Oh human glory vain, oh death, oh wings,
Oh worthless world, oh transitory things!

Yet dwelt that greatnesss in his shape decayed,
That still through dead, greater than death he laid:
And in his altered face you something feign
That threatens death he yet will live again.

Not much unlike the sacred oak which shoots
To heaven its branches and through earth its roots,
Whose spacious bought are hung with trophies round,
And honoured wreaths have oft the victor crowned.
When angry Jove darts lightning through the air,
At mortals' sins, nor his own plant will spare,
(It groans, and bruises all below, that stood
So many years the shelter of the wood.)
The tree erewhile foreshortened to our view,
When fall'n shows taller yet than as it grew:

So shall his praise to after times increase,
When truth shall be allowed, and faction cease,
And his own shadows with him fall. The eye
Detracts from object than itself more high:
But when death takes them from that envied seat,
Seeing how little, we confess how great.

Thee, many ages hence in martial verse
Shall the English soldier, ere he charge, rehearse,
Singing of thee, inflame themselves to fight,
And with the name of Cromwell, armies fright.
As long as rivers to the seas shall run,
As long as Cynthia shall relieve the sun,
While stags shall fly unto the firests thick,
While sheep delight the grassy downs to pick,
As long as future times succeeds the past,
Always they honour, praise, and name shall last.

Thou in a pitch how far beyond the sphere
Of human glory tower'st, and reigning there
Despoiled of mortal robes, in seas of bliss,
Plunging dost bathe, and tread the bright abyss:
There thy great soul yet once a world does see,
Spacious enough, and pure enough for thee.
How soon thou Moses hast, and Joshua found,
And David for the sword and harp renowned?
How straight canst to each happy mansion go?
(Far better known above than here below)
And in those joys dost spend the endless day,
Which in expressing we ourselves betray.

For we, since thou art gone, with heavy doom,
Wander like ghosts about thy lovèd tomb;
And lost in tears, have neither sight nor mind
To guide us upward through this region blind.
Since thou art gone, who best that way couldst teach,
Only our sighs, perhaps, may thither reach.

And Richard yet, where his great parent led,
Beats on the rugged track: he, virtue dead,
Revives, and by his milder beams assures;
And yet how much of them his grief obscures?

He, as his father, long was kept from sight
In private, to be viewed by better light;
But opened once, what splendour does he throw?
A Cromwell in an hour a prince will grow.
How he becomes that seat, how strongly strains,
How gently winds at once the ruling reins?
Heaven to this choice prepared a diadem,
Richer than any Easter silk or gem;
A pearly rainbow, where the sun enchased
His brows, like an imperial jewel graced.

We find already what those omens mean,
Earth ne'er more glad, nor heaven more serene.
Cease now our griefs, calm peace succeeds a war,
Rainbows to storms, Richard to Oliver.
Tempt not his clemency to try his power,
He threats no deluge, yet foretells a shower.

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