The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 6.
John Greenleaf Whittier, Ed.

So restless Cromwell could not cease
     In the inglorious arts of peace,
But through adventurous war
     Urged his active star.

And, like the three-forked lightning, first
     Breaking the clouds wherein it nurst,
Did thorough his own side
     His fiery way divide.

For 't is all one to courage high,
     The emulous, or enemy;
And with such to enclose
     Is more than to oppose.

Then burning through the air he went,
     And palaces and temples rent;
And Caesar's head at last
     Did through his laurels blast.

Tis madness to resist or blame
     The face of angry Heaven's flame;
And, if we would speak true,
     Much to the man is due,

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

Could by industrious valor climb
     To ruin the great work of time,
And cast the kingdoms old
     Into another mould!

Though justice against fate complain,
     And plead the ancient rights in vain,—
But those do hold or break,
     As men are strong or weak.