 | The poetical works of Barry Cornwall |  |
169
CROMWELL.
Somewhat apart, but undistinguish'd allFrom those around, sate Cromwell. In his eye
Collected, peered deceit: yet withal blazed
A stern and steady fire: half hypocrite
And zealot half was he, and had become
Perchance, but that the dawning light then shone,
A dark inquisitor, and fit to share
Those works of fire, whereby the cowled monk
Was wont convince the writhing heretic.
At last he slowly rose.—Silent at first
He stood as night: gloomy his brow, but touch'd
And elevate by fanatic flame, that rose
Far from the heart. Like some dark rock, whose rifts
Hold nitrous grain, whereon the lightning fires
170
So he, some corpor'al nerve being struck, stood there
Glaring, but cold and pitiless.—Even hope
(The brightest angel whom the heavens have given
To lead and cheer us onwards) shrank aghast
From that stern look despairing.
| The poetical works of Barry Cornwall | |