Who, from his private gardens, where
He lived reservèd and austere,
(As if his highest plot
To plant the bergamot),

Could by industrious valour climb
To ruin the great work of time,
And cast the kingdoms old
Into another mould."

The last stanzas of all have much pith and meaning in them:--

"But thou, the war's and fortune's son,
March indefatigably on!
And for the last effect,
Still keep the sword erect.

Besides the force it has to fright
The spirits of the shady night,
The same arts that did gain
A power, must it maintain."[67:1]

It is not surprising that this Ode was not published in 1650--if indeed
it was the work of that, and not of a later year. There is nothing
either of the courtier or of the partisan about its stately
versification and sober, solemn thought. Entire self-possession,
dignity, criticism of a great man and a strange career by one well
entitled to criticise, are among the chief characteristics of this noble
poem. It is infinitely refreshing, when reading and thinking about
Cromwell, to get as far away as possible from the fanatic's scream and