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die. But the enemy lay in that direction He turned his horse towards Thame, where he arrived almost fainting with agony. The surgeons dressed his wounds. But

there was no hope. The pain which he suffered was most 5 excruciating. But he endured it with admirable firmness and resignation.

His first care was for his country. He wrote from his bed several letters to London, concerning public affairs, and

sent a last pressing message to the head-quarters, recom10 mending that the dispersed forces should be concentrated.

When his public duties were performed, he calmly prepared himself to die. He was attended by a clergyman of the church of England, with whom he had lived in

habits of intimacy, and by the chaplain of the Bucking15 hamshire Greencoats, Dr. Spurton, whom Baxter describes as a famous and excellent divine.

A short time before his death, the sacrament was administered to him. His intellect remained unclouded.

When all was nearly over, he lay murmuring faint prayers 20 for himself, and for the cause in which he died. “ Lord

Jesus,” he exclaimed, in the moment of the last agony, “ receive my soul. O Lord, save my country. O Lord, be merciful to — ” In that broken ejaculation passed

away his noble and fearless spirit. 25 He was buried in the parish church of Hampden. His

soldiers, bareheaded, with reversed arms and muffled drums and colors, escorted his body to the grave, singing, as they marched, that lofty and melancholy psalm in which the

fragility of human life is contrasted with the immutability 30 of Him to whom a thousand years are as yesterday when it is passed, and as a watch in the night.

The news of Hampden's death produced as great a consternation in his party, according to Clarendon, as if their

whole army had been cut off. The journals of the time 35 amply prove that the parliament and all its friends were

filled with grief and dismay. Lord Nugent has quoted a

18

.

remarkable passage from the next “ Weekly Intelligencer:” “The loss of Colonel Hampden goeth near the heart of every man that loves the good of his king and

country, and makes some conceive little content to be at 5 the army, now that he is gone. The memory of this

deceased colonel is such, that in no age to come but it will more and more be had in honor and esteem ; a man so religious, and of that prudence, judgment, temper,

valor, and integrity, that he hath left few his like be10 hind.” He had indeed left none his like behind him.

There still remained, 'indeed, in his party many acute intellects, many eloquent tongues, many brave and hoffest hearts. There still remained a rugged and clownish sol

dier, half fanatic, half buffoon, whose talents, discerned 15 as yet only by one penetrating eye, were equal to all the

highest duties of the soldier and the prince. But in Hampden, and in Hampden alone, were united all the qualities which at such a crisis were necessary to save the

state, — the valor and energy of Cromwell, the discern20 ment and eloquence of Vane, the humanity and moderation

of Manchester, the stern integrity of Hale, the ardent public spirit of Sydney. Others might possess the qualities which were necessary to save the popular party in

the crisis of danger; he alone had both the power and the 25 inclination to restrain its excesses in the hour of triumph. Others could conquer ; he alone could reconcile.

A heart as bold as his brought up the cuirassiers who turned the tide of battle on Marston Moor. As skilful an

eye as his watched the Scotch army descending from the · 30 heights over Dunbar. But it was when, to the sullen

tyranny of Laud and Charles had succeeded the fierce conflict of sects and factions, ambitious of ascendency and burning for revenge, — it was when the vices and ignorance which the old tyranny bad generated threatened the new

* Cromwell.

freedom with destruction, — that England missed the sobriety, the self-command, the perfect soundness of judgment, the perfect rectitude of intention, to which the

history of revolutions furnishes no parallel, or furnishes õ a parallel in Washington alone.

LXXXVII. - THE PILGRIM FATHERS.

SPRAGUE. SCHARLES SPRAGUE was born in Boston, October 25, 1791, and has constantly resided here. He made himself first known as a poet by several prize prologues at the opening of theatres, which had a polish of numbers and a vigor of expression not often found in compositions of this class. In 1823 he was the successful competitor for a prize offered for the best ode to be recited at a Shakspeare pageant at the Boston Theatre. This is the most fervid and brilliant of all his poems, and has much of the lyric rush and glow. In 1829 he recited a poem called “Curiosity," before the Phi Beta Kappa Society of Harvard College, which is polished in its versification, and filled with carefully wrought and beautiful pictures. In 1830 he pronounced an ode at the centennial celebration of the settlement of Boston, (from which the following extract is taken,) which is a finished and animated performance. He has also written many smaller pieces, of much merit.

Mr. Sprague presents an encouraging example of the union of practical bust ness habits with the tastes of a scholar and the sensibilities of a poet. Ile was for many years cashier of a bank, and performed his prosaic duties withi 49 much attentiveness and skill as if he had never written a line of verse ]

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BEHOLD! they come — those sainted forms,
Unshaken through the strife of storms;
Heaven's winter cloud hangs coldly down,
And earth puts on its rudest frown;
But colder, ruder, was the hand

That drove them from their own fair land ;
Their own fair land — Refinement's chosen seat,
Art's trophied dwelling, Learning's green retreat, ---
By valor guarded, and by victory crowned,
For all, but gentle Charity, renowned.

With streaming eye yet steadfast heart,
Even from thạt land they dared to part,

And burst each tender tie, —

Haunts, where their sunny youth was passed. Homes, where they fondly hoped at last

In peaceful age to die. Friends, kindred, comfort, all, they spurned,

Their fathers' hallowed graves, And to a world of darkness turned,

Beyond a world of waves.

When Israel's race from bondage fled,
Signs from on high the wanderers led ;
But here — Heaven hung no symbol here,
Their steps to guide, their souls to cheer;
They saw, through sorrow's lengthening night,
Nought but the fagot's guilty light;
The cloud they gazed at was the smoke
That round their murdered brethren broke.
A fearful path they trod,

And dared a fearful doom,
To build an altar to their God,

And find a quiet tomb.

They come ; — that coming who shall tell ?
The eye may weep, the heart may swell,
But the poor tongue in vain essays
A fitting note for them to raise.
We hear the after-shout that rings
For them who smote the power of kings:
The swelling triumph all would share,
But who the dark defeat would dare,
And boldly meet the wrath and woe
That wait the unsuccessful blow,?
It were an envied fate, we deem,
To live a land's recorded theme,

When we are in the tomb;
We, too, might yield the joys of home,
And waves of winter darkness roam,

And tread a shore of gloom, — Knew we those waves, through coming time, Should roll our names to every clime; Felt we that millions on that shore Should stand, our memory to adore. But no glad vision burst in light Upon the Pilgrims' aching sight; Their hearts no proud hereafter swelled;

Deep shadows veiled the way they held ;
The yell of vengeance was their trump of fame,
Their monument, a grave without a name.
Yet, strong in weakness, there they stand

On yonder ice-bound rock,
Stern and resolved, that faithful band,

To meet Fate's rudest shock.

In grateful adoration now,
Upon the barren sands they bow.
What tongue e'er woke such prayer
As bursts in desolation there?
What arm of strength e'er wrought such power

As waits to crown that feeble hour?
There into life an infant empire springs !

There falls the iron from the soul;
There Liberty's young accents roll

Up to the King of kings !
To fair creation's farthest bound

That thrilling summons yet shall sound; · The dreaming nations shall awake, And to their centre earth's old kingdoms shake;

Pontiff and prince, your sway

Must crumble from that day : Before the loftier throne of Heaven

The hand is raised, the pledge is given, One monarch to obey, one creed to own, That monarch, God; that creed. His word alona

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