"He was buried in the parish church of Hampden. His soldiers,
bareheaded with reversed arms, and muffled drums, and colours,
escorted his body to the grave, singing, as they marched, that
lofty and melancholy psalm, in which the fragility of human life is
contrasted with the immutability of Him, in whose sight a thousand
years are but as yesterday when it is passed, and as a watch in the
night.

"The news of Hampden's death produced as great a consternation in his
party, according to Clarendon, as if their whole army had been cut
off. The journals of the time amply prove that the Parliament and all
its friends were filled with grief and dismay. Lord Nugent has quoted
a remarkable passage from the next _Weekly Intelligencer_. 'The loss
of Colonel Hampden goeth near the heart of every man that loves the
good of his king and country, and makes some conceive little content
to be at the army now that he is gone. The memory of this deceased
colonel is such, that in no age to come but it will more and more be
had in honour and esteem;--a man so religious, and of that prudence,
judgment, temper, valour, and integrity, that he hath left few his
like behind him,'

"He had indeed left none his like behind him. There still remained,
indeed, in his party, many acute intellects, many eloquent tongues,
many brave and honest hearts. There still remained a rugged and
clownish soldier,--half-fanatic, half-buffoon,--whose talents
discerned as yet only by one penetrating eye, were equal to all the
highest duties of the soldier and the prince. But in Hampden, and in
Hampden alone, were united all the qualities which, at such a crisis,
were necessary to save the state,--the valour and energy of Cromwell,