Page:The Poetical Works of Thomas Parnell (1833).djvu/26

x The bleeding scaffold, or the dungeon's gloom, The sacred glories of the martyr's tomb. Where, when the fires of death more fiercely rise Sweet Hope, with bosom calm and radiant eyes, Absolves the doubtful justice of the skies. There shine, where Sidney fell, the opprobrious walls, There the grey virtue of a Cranmer calls; Forms how benign attend his closing years, Majestic sorrows—penitential tears! Tender remorse, and soft upbraidings sent By the contrite heart, and conscience rightly bent, Fetching forgiveness home through punishment. There Russell stood—while love and beauty nigh, Watch'd each low word, and caught each changing eye. Gaz'd on the gleaming axe, the headsman's frown, And the rich blood that stain'd the tyrant's crown. In yon dim aisle unmark'd a Milton sleeps; O'er Rawleigh's grave indignant virtue weeps, Greatest, when all were great—serene and gay, There More, unmov'd beheld life's closing day, And frowning on his foes, great Strafford stood at bay. Nor be the names unhonour'd in the page Of faithful memory, calling back her age With tears of holy joy and love divine! To hang a pensive wreath upon the shrine Of them who put—in hard affliction tried— Crosier, and crown, and jewell'd robe aside; Begging with earnest zeal to be denied.