 | Zinzendorff, and other poems |  |
QUEEN ELIZABETH AND THE COUNTESS OF NOTTINGHAM.
Death stood beneath a lordly dome
As pitiless and dread
As when within some cottage-home
He smites the peasant's head:
“Haste! Call the Queen!” a hollow tone
Of fainting anguish cried,
And she who sat on England's throne
Came to the sufferer's side.
As pitiless and dread
As when within some cottage-home
He smites the peasant's head:
“Haste! Call the Queen!” a hollow tone
Of fainting anguish cried,
And she who sat on England's throne
Came to the sufferer's side.
The dying Countess strove in vain
Her last request to speak,
Till tears of woe with dews of pain
Blent on her a hen cheek:
At length her quivering hand unclos'd,
And lo! a ring was there,
Of rare and radiant gems compos'd,
Such as a king might wear.
Her last request to speak,
Till tears of woe with dews of pain
Blent on her a hen cheek:
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And lo! a ring was there,
Of rare and radiant gems compos'd,
Such as a king might wear.
“He, for whose hand this ring was meet,
I dare not name his name
Once bade me lay it at your feet
To spare the scaffold's shame;
But I—and he my sin reveal'd,
And my repentance keen,
In bitter hate the pledge conceal'd,
Oh pardon! gracious Queen!”
I dare not name his name
Once bade me lay it at your feet
To spare the scaffold's shame;
But I—and he my sin reveal'd,
And my repentance keen,
In bitter hate the pledge conceal'd,
Oh pardon! gracious Queen!”
What might that jewel'd toy restore
Within the royal heart?
Did buried love revive once more
In that convulsive start?
But none may scan her spirit's frame
As that fond gift she view'd,
While back her idol Essex came
From his dark grave of blood!
Within the royal heart?
Did buried love revive once more
In that convulsive start?
But none may scan her spirit's frame
As that fond gift she view'd,
While back her idol Essex came
From his dark grave of blood!
Again that noble form appear'd
In homage at her feet,
Again his manly voice she heard
In murmur'd flattery sweet;
His warm lips press the fatal ring,
Bright tears suffuse his eye,
Broke she the promise of a king?
And did that favorite die?
In homage at her feet,
Again his manly voice she heard
In murmur'd flattery sweet;
His warm lips press the fatal ring,
Bright tears suffuse his eye,
Broke she the promise of a king?
And did that favorite die?
Down, Fancy, down! her cheek is pale!
Her haughty soul doth quake,
The horrors of thy scenery veil,
The fearful torpor break,
That seems along her brow to steal,
But lo! with sudden strife,
In all its rash, ungovern'd zeal
Dire Anger sprang to life.
Her haughty soul doth quake,
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The fearful torpor break,
That seems along her brow to steal,
But lo! with sudden strife,
In all its rash, ungovern'd zeal
Dire Anger sprang to life.
Revenge, amazement and remorse
Each warring thought distrest,
And every heart-string's rebel force
Made conflict in her breast;
Fierce passions o'er her features spread
As with a frantic grasp
She shook the dying in her bed
Even at the latest gasp.
Each warring thought distrest,
And every heart-string's rebel force
Made conflict in her breast;
Fierce passions o'er her features spread
As with a frantic grasp
She shook the dying in her bed
Even at the latest gasp.
With flashing eyes and tottering knees
She shriek'd in accents shrill
“God may forgive you, if he please
But no! I never will.”
Convulsion like a blighting frost
Upon the sufferer fell,
And with one groan the wretched ghost
Bade its blanch'd corpse farewell.
She shriek'd in accents shrill
“God may forgive you, if he please
But no! I never will.”
Convulsion like a blighting frost
Upon the sufferer fell,
And with one groan the wretched ghost
Bade its blanch'd corpse farewell.
Yet scarce a few more suns serene
O'er the proud palace sped,
When lo! high Tudor's haughty Queen
Was with the crownless dead;
Yes! the implacable did stand
Before that Judge in Heaven
Who gave the great, the dread command
“Forgive! and be forgiven.”
O'er the proud palace sped,
When lo! high Tudor's haughty Queen
Was with the crownless dead;
Yes! the implacable did stand
Before that Judge in Heaven
Who gave the great, the dread command
“Forgive! and be forgiven.”
| Zinzendorff, and other poems | |