BOOK V. The third of the same moon, whose former course Our souls to compass through each arduous way, Were they but so in man's, how different were his doom! Childe Harold. CHAPTER I. A more than earthly crown The dictatorial wreath. He who surpasses or subdues mankind, Must look down on the hate of those below. # Though high above the sun of glory glow, And far beneath the earth and ocean spread, Round him are icy rocks, and loudly blow And thus reward the toils which to those summits led. Childe Harold. It was the evening of the twenty-sixth of June, some five years later than the date of Milton's letter urging upon Sir Edgar Ardenne the propriety of his return to England; yet since he had dictated it, the poet had received no line or token from his friend. After the peace which closed the long and hard-fought struggle with the Hollanders, and decided the supremacy of England on the seas, Ardenne throwing up his commission had left the navy, nor, since that day, had any tidings been received of one, who had a little time before so occupied the general attention, and played a part so eminent in that great drama—the world's History. Such is renown!-such popular applause! such human gratitude! The man who had preserved the life of Oliver on Winsley-field— who had secured his victory on Marston Moor, who had, to the abandonment of all that could have rendered his own life happy, laboured as the most strenuous and faithful of that great being's followers, so long as he believed him true to England and himself—who, with a yet harder sacrifice, quitted his side the very moment he perceived the dawning symptoms of ambition, in one whom he had loved and honoured, as men but rarely love and honour -this man was now forgotten-forgotten by the land for which he had so deeply suffered forgotten by the friend he had so deeply served! The previous anniversary of this day had been a day of splendour and rejoicing-the night had been one of joy, festivity, and mirth. From every steeple in the huge metropolis the merry bells had chimed with their most jovial notes-from park and tower the loud voice of the cannon thundered in noisy concert-from every casement, tapers, and lamps, and torches sent forth unwonted radiance and from each court and square great bonfires streamed heavenward, while by their light the multitude sat feasting and carousing to the health of the Protector. The previous anniversary had witnessed the superb and solemn ceremonial of his installation to the office, which he had filled with so much dignity and honour to himself, with so much profit and advancement to his country, during the four preceding years. With all the glorious preparation, the ❝ pride, pomp, and circumstance," which attended the coronation of a monarch,—with proclamation of the kings-at-arms, and homage of bare headed lords, and acclamations of the multitude, and addresses from the delegates of foreign potentates,—Oliver had been decorated with a robe of purple more splendidly elaborate than the attire of any former king; he had been girded with the rich sword of state; he had received a sceptre massive with solid gold, with which to sway the destinies of England, and a noble copy of the Holy Writ, whereby to wield that sceptre rightly. Generals had borne his train; the parliament had sanctioned his investiture, as performed by its Speaker; the people had assented. In all but namethat "feather in the hat," which adds not any thing to him who wears it, that "toy and bauble," which he had oftentimes rejected, partly in politic accordance to the prejudices of his more fanatical advisers, partly in superstitious, although unconfessed obedience to the prophetic voice, which had forewarned him of his coming greatness-in all but name the citizen of Huntingdon was now the KING OF ENGLAND! Great-powerful-triumphant-unresisted! |