[Footnote 1: 'Lord Hastings:' the nobleman herein lamented, was styled Henry Lord Hastings, son to Ferdinand Earl of Huntingdon. He died before his father in 1649, being then in his twentieth year, and on the day preceding that which had been fixed for his marriage.] [Footnote 2: 'Archimedes:' a famous geometrician, who was killed at the taking of Syracuse, in the 542d year of Rome. He made a glass sphere, wherein the motions of the heavenly bodies were wonderfully described.] [Footnote 3: 'Ptolemy:' Claudius Ptolemæus, a celebrated mathematician in the reign of M. Aurelius Antoninus.] [Footnote 4: 'Tycho:' Tycho Brahe] * * * * * HEROIC STANZAS ON THE DEATH OF OLIVER CROMWELL, WRITTEN AFTER HIS FUNERAL. 1 And now 'tis time; for their officious haste, Who would before have borne him to the sky, Like eager Romans, ere all rites were past, Did let too soon the sacred eagle[5] fly. 2 Though our best notes are treason to his fame, Join'd with the loud applause of public voice; Since Heaven, what praise we offer to his name, Hath render'd too authentic by its choice. 3 Though in his praise no arts can liberal be, Since they, whose muses have the highest flown, Add not to his immortal memory, But do an act of friendship to their own: 4 Yet 'tis our duty, and our interest too, Such monuments as we can build to raise; Lest all the world prevent what we should do, And claim a title in him by their praise. 5 How shall I then begin, or where conclude, To draw a fame so truly circular? For in a round what order can be show'd, Where all the parts so equal perfect are? 6 His grandeur he derived from Heaven alone; For he was great ere fortune made him so: And wars, like mists that rise against the sun, Made him but greater seem, not greater grow. 7 No borrow'd bays his temples did adorn, But to our crown he did fresh jewels bring; Nor was his virtue poison'd soon as born, With the too early thoughts of being king. 8 Fortune (that easy mistress to the young, But to her ancient servants coy and hard), Him at that age her favourites rank'd among, When she her best-loved Pompey did discard. 9 He, private, mark'd the faults of others' sway, And set as sea-marks for himself to shun: Not like rash monarchs, who their youth betray By acts their age too late would wish undone. 10 And yet dominion was not his design; We owe that blessing, not to him, but Heaven, Which to fair acts unsought rewards did join; Rewards, that less to him, than us, were given. 11 Our former chiefs, like sticklers of the war, First sought to inflame the parties, then to poise: The quarrel loved, but did the cause abhor; And did not strike to hurt, but make a noise.