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246

PORTRAIT AT WENTWORTH.

Was he then human? Tools of Tyrants! could
This face be Strafford's? Strafford's! who his hands
Wrung in Hibernia's hair, and, drunk with blood,
Call'd murder wisdom! Brutal as his bands,
He startled hell with crime. His savage mood
Nor pity sooth'd nor reason's might could bow.
But Hampden dared withstand him, Pym withstood;
And men were found who laid his master low,
And sent the servant—whither tyrants go.
And, lo, at length, strange pangs his heart have riven!
There is a touch of feeling on his brow,
“For pledges left him by a saint in heav'n.”
No more than this, could royal Charles allow?
“Put not your trust in princes!” Why didst thou?