 | The poems of Mrs. Emma Catherine Embury |  |
49
THE SURRENDER OF CALAIS.
The king was in his tent,
And his lofty heart beat high,
As he gazed on the city's battered walls
With proud and flashing eye;
But darker grew his brow and stern,
As slowly onward came
The chiefs who long had dared to spurn
The terror of his name.
And his lofty heart beat high,
As he gazed on the city's battered walls
With proud and flashing eye;
But darker grew his brow and stern,
As slowly onward came
The chiefs who long had dared to spurn
The terror of his name.
With calm and changeless cheek
Before the king they stood,
For their native soil to offer up
The sacrifice of blood.
Like felons were they meanly clad,
But the lightning of their look,
The marble sternness of their brow,
E'en the monarch could not brook.
Before the king they stood,
For their native soil to offer up
The sacrifice of blood.
Like felons were they meanly clad,
But the lightning of their look,
The marble sternness of their brow,
E'en the monarch could not brook.
With angry voice he cried:
“Haste! bear them off to death;
Let the trumpet's joyous shout be blent
With the traitors' parting breath!”
Then silently they turned away,
Nor word nor sound awoke,
Till from the monarch's haughty train,
The voice of horror broke.
“Haste! bear them off to death;
Let the trumpet's joyous shout be blent
With the traitors' parting breath!”
Then silently they turned away,
Nor word nor sound awoke,
Till from the monarch's haughty train,
The voice of horror broke.
50
When hark! a step draws near,
Not like the heavy clang
Of the warrior's tread, and through the guards
A female figure sprang:—
“A boon! a boon! my noble king!
If still thy heart can feel
The love Philippa once could claim,
Look on me while I kneel!
Not like the heavy clang
Of the warrior's tread, and through the guards
A female figure sprang:—
“A boon! a boon! my noble king!
If still thy heart can feel
The love Philippa once could claim,
Look on me while I kneel!
“'Tis for thyself I pray;
Let not the dark'ning cloud
Of base-born cruelty arise,
Thy glory to enshroud!
Nay, nay, I will not rise;
For never more thy wife
Will hail the victor, till thy soul
Can conquer passion's strife!
Let not the dark'ning cloud
Of base-born cruelty arise,
Thy glory to enshroud!
Nay, nay, I will not rise;
For never more thy wife
Will hail the victor, till thy soul
Can conquer passion's strife!
“Turn not away, my king,
Look not in anger down,
I've lived so long upon thy smile
I cannot bear thy frown;
O! doom me not, dear lord, to feel
The pang all pangs above—
To see the light I worship fade,
And blush for him I love.
Look not in anger down,
I've lived so long upon thy smile
I cannot bear thy frown;
O! doom me not, dear lord, to feel
The pang all pangs above—
To see the light I worship fade,
And blush for him I love.
“Think how for thee I laid
My woman's fears aside,
And dared where charging squadrons met,
With dauntless front to ride;
Think how, in all the matchless strength
Of woman's love, I spread
Thy banners, till they proudly waved
In victory o'er my head.
My woman's fears aside,
And dared where charging squadrons met,
With dauntless front to ride;
51
Of woman's love, I spread
Thy banners, till they proudly waved
In victory o'er my head.
“Thou saidst that I deserved
To share thy glorious crown;
O, force me not to turn away
In shame from thy renown.
My Edward, thou wert wont to bear
A kind and gentle heart;
Then listen to Philippa's prayer,
And let these men depart.”
To share thy glorious crown;
O, force me not to turn away
In shame from thy renown.
My Edward, thou wert wont to bear
A kind and gentle heart;
Then listen to Philippa's prayer,
And let these men depart.”
O, what is all the pride
Of man's oft boasted power,
Compared with those sweet dreams that wake
In love's triumphant hour?
Slowly the haughty king unbent
His stern and vengeful brow,
And the look he turned upon her face
Was filled with fondness now.
Of man's oft boasted power,
Compared with those sweet dreams that wake
In love's triumphant hour?
Slowly the haughty king unbent
His stern and vengeful brow,
And the look he turned upon her face
Was filled with fondness now.
Ne'er yet was woman slow
To read in tell-tale eyes
Such thoughts as these; a moment more,
And on his breast she lies;
Then while her slender form still clung
To his supporting arm,
He cried, “Sweet, be it as thou wilt—
They shall not meet with harm.”
To read in tell-tale eyes
Such thoughts as these; a moment more,
And on his breast she lies;
Then while her slender form still clung
To his supporting arm,
He cried, “Sweet, be it as thou wilt—
They shall not meet with harm.”
52
Then from the patriot band
Arose one thrilling cry,
And tears rained down the iron cheek
That turned unblenched to die;
“Now we indeed are slaves,” they cried,
“Now vain our warlike arts;
Edward has now our shattered walls,
Philippa wins our hearts.”
Arose one thrilling cry,
And tears rained down the iron cheek
That turned unblenched to die;
“Now we indeed are slaves,” they cried,
“Now vain our warlike arts;
Edward has now our shattered walls,
Philippa wins our hearts.”
| The poems of Mrs. Emma Catherine Embury | |