 | Fair Rosamund |  |
133
PROLOGUE.
Chorus.As toiling Hercules forced Hell's grim door,
And viewed the nether mysteries of fate;
So doth the buskin'd Muse of tragic lore
Burst through the ancient adamantine gate
That gives to night the secrets of the past.
Listen! She opens rounded mouth to tell
A thing, unguessed before—revealed at last.
She whom our first Plantagenet too well
Loved, and for whom he built the marble maze,
Was no rich crimson beauty of old line,
As fabled in proud histories and lays;
No Clifford, as 'tis boasted; but, in fine,
A girl o' the country, delicately made
Of blushes and simplicity and pure,
Free ardour, of her sweetness unafraid;
For Rosa Mundi—of this truth be sure—
Was nature's Rose, not man's: as ye shall see
In this sad tale of lovers' destiny.
| Fair Rosamund | |