Chapter 62

HAMPDEN, PYM, CROMWELL, HIS DAUGHTER, AND YOUNG SIR HARRY VANE.

HAMPDEN: England, farewell! thou, who hast been my cradle, Shalt never be my dungeon or my grave! I held what I inherited in thee As pawn for that inheritance of freedom Which thou hast sold for thy despoiler’s smile: _5 How can I call thee England, or my country?— Does the wind hold?

VANE: The vanes sit steady Upon the Abbey towers. The silver lightnings Of the evening star, spite of the city’s smoke, Tell that the north wind reigns in the upper air. _10 Mark too that flock of fleecy-winged clouds Sailing athwart St. Margaret’s.

NOTE: _11 flock 1824; fleet 1870.

HAMPDEN: Hail, fleet herald Of tempest! that rude pilot who shall guide Hearts free as his, to realms as pure as thee, Beyond the shot of tyranny, _15 Beyond the webs of that swoln spider... Beyond the curses, calumnies, and [lies?] Of atheist priests! ... And thou Fair star, whose beam lies on the wide Atlantic, Athwart its zones of tempest and of calm, _20 Bright as the path to a beloved home Oh, light us to the isles of the evening land! Like floating Edens cradled in the glimmer Of sunset, through the distant mist of years Touched by departing hope, they gleam! lone regions, _25 Where Power’s poor dupes and victims yet have never Propitiated the savage fear of kings With purest blood of noblest hearts; whose dew Is yet unstained with tears of those who wake To weep each day the wrongs on which it dawns; _30 Whose sacred silent air owns yet no echo Of formal blasphemies; nor impious rites Wrest man’s free worship, from the God who loves, To the poor worm who envies us His love! Receive, thou young ... of Paradise. _35 These exiles from the old and sinful world!

...

This glorious clime, this firmament, whose lights Dart mitigated influence through their veil Of pale blue atmosphere; whose tears keep green The pavement of this moist all-feeding earth; _40 This vaporous horizon, whose dim round Is bastioned by the circumfluous sea, Repelling invasion from the sacred towers, Presses upon me like a dungeon’s grate, A low dark roof, a damp and narrow wall. _45 The boundless universe Becomes a cell too narrow for the soul That owns no master; while the loathliest ward Of this wide prison, England, is a nest Of cradling peace built on the mountain tops,— _50 To which the eagle spirits of the free, Which range through heaven and earth, and scorn the storm Of time, and gaze upon the light of truth, Return to brood on thoughts that cannot die And cannot be repelled. _55 Like eaglets floating in the heaven of time, They soar above their quarry, and shall stoop Through palaces and temples thunderproof.

NOTES: _13 rude 1870; wild 1824. _16-_18 Beyond...priests 1870; omitted 1824. _25 Touched 1870; Tinged 1824. _34 To the poor 1870; Towards the 1824. _38 their 1870; the 1824. _46 boundless 1870; mighty 1824. _48 owns no 1824; owns a 1870. ward 1870; spot 1824. _50 cradling 1870; cradled 1824. _54, _55 Return...repelled 1870; Return to brood over the [ ] thoughts That cannot die, and may not be repelled 1824. _56-_58 Like...thunderproof 1870; omitted 1824.