Narrative poems on the Female Character in the various relations of life. By Mary Russell Mitford ... Vol. I |
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| I. |
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
 | XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
| XXI. |
| XXII. |
| XXIII. |
| XXIV. |
| XXV. |
| XXVI. |
| XXVII. |
| XXVIII. |
| XXIX. |
| XXX. |
| XXXI. |
| XXXII. |
| XXXIII. |
| XXXIV. |
| XXXV. |
| XXXVI. |
| XXXVII. |
| XXXVIII. |
| XXXIX. |
| XL. |
| XLI. |
| XLII. |
| XLIII. | XLIII. |
| XLIV. |
| XLV. |
| XLVI. |
| XLVII. |
| XLVIII. |
| XLIX. |
| L. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
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 | Narrative poems on the Female Character |  |
XLIII.
The herald's task is o'er. The maid,Still tranquil, fix'd, and breathless staid;
As if of that dread tale no word
Her terror-palsied ear had heard;
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She cast to heaven one suppliant glance,
As if to seek for mercy there:
Then, stepping tow'rds the armed ring,
She ask'd, “May I not see the King?
Will not he listen to my prayer?”
Vainly she gaz'd in ev'ry face,
A tear, a pitying look to trace;
Still in each guard's averted eye,
She read his stern fidelity:
Till a tall comely archer came,
And roughly seiz'd the lovely dame,
And led her from the crowd;
“Away! the King abhors thy name!”
He cried, abrupt and loud.
But, with the word, he kindly prest,
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And whisper'd, “Would that it were more!”
Sweet was the sound to Blanch's breast!
She would not take the proffer'd purse;
But there was one would bless, not curse!
He who has known the venom'd pang
When hatred lurks in misery's fang,
He only knows what sweet relief
E'en powerless pity yields to grief.
| Narrative poems on the Female Character | |