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Narrative poems on the Female Character

in the various relations of life. By Mary Russell Mitford ... Vol. I
Mitford, Mary Russell (1787-1855)
  
[dedication]

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[section]
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BLANCH;
  
Introduction.
collapse sectionI. 
CANTO I.
 I. 
[I.]
 II. 
II.
 III. 
III.
 IV. 
IV.
 V. 
V.
 VI. 
VI.
 VII. 
VII.
 VIII. 
VIII.
 IX. 
IX.
 X. 
X.
 XI. 
XI.
collapse sectionXII. 
XII.
  
Serenade continued.
 XIII. 
XIII.
 XIV. 
XIV.
 XV. 
XV.
 XVI. 
XVI.
 XVII. 
XVII.
 XVIII. 
XVIII.
 XIX. 
XIX.
 XX. 
XX.
 XXI. 
XXI.
 XXII. 
XXII.
 XXIII. 
XXIII.
 XXIV. 
XXIV.
 XXV. 
XXV.
 XXVI. 
XXVI.
 XXVII. 
XXVII.
 XXVIII. 
XXVIII.
 XXIX. 
XXIX.
 XXX. 
XXX.
 XXXI. 
XXXI.
 XXXII. 
XXXII.
 XXXIII. 
XXXIII.
 XXXIV. 
XXXIV.
 XXXV. 
XXXV.
 XXXVI. 
XXXVI.
 XXXVII. 
XXXVII.
 XXXVIII. 
XXXVIII.
 XXXIX. 
XXXIX.
 XL. 
XL.
 XLI. 
XLI.
 XLII. 
XLII. THE SENTENCE.
 XLIII. 
XLIII.
 XLIV. 
XLIV.
 XLV. 
XLV.
 XLVI. 
XLVI.
 XLVII. 
XLVII.
 XLVIII. 
XLVIII.
 XLIX. 
XLIX.
 L. 
L.
 II. 
CANTO II.
 III. 
CANTO III.
collapse sectionIV. 
CANTO IV.
 I. 
I.
 II. 
II.
 III. 
III.
 IV. 
IV.
 V. 
V.
 VI. 
VI.
 VII. 
VII.
 VIII. 
VIII.
 IX. 
IX.
 X. 
X.
 XI. 
XI.
 XII. 
XII.
 XIII. 
XIII.
 XIV. 
XIV.
 XV. 
XV.
 XVI. 
XVI.
 XVII. 
XVII.
 XVIII. 
XVIII.
 XIX. 
XIX.
 XX. 
XX.
 XXI. 
XXI.
 XXII. 
XXII.
 XXIII. 
XXIII.
 XXIV. 
XXIV.
 XXV. 
XXV.
 XXVI. 
XXVI.
 XXVII. 
XXVII.
 XXVIII. 
XXVIII.
 XXIX. 
XXIX.
 XXX. 
XXX.
 XXXI. 
XXXI.
 XXXII. 
XXXII.
 XXXIII. 
XXXIII.
 XXXIV. 
XXXIV.
 XXXV. 
XXXV.
 XXXVI. 
XXXVI.
 XXXVII. 
XXXVII.
 XXXVIII. 
XXXVIII.
 XXXIX. 
XXXIX.
 XL. 
XL.
 XLI. 
XLI.
 XLII. 
XLII.
 XLIII. 
XLIII.
 XLIV. 
XLIV.
 XLV. 
XLV.
 XLVI. 
XLVI.
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THE RIVAL SISTERS;
 I. 
CANTO I.
 II. 
CANTO II.
 III. 
CANTO III.

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XXXVII.

They cease at once. The boy is dead!
The father breathes nor word, nor groan;
He stands as if the shaft that sped
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And bow'd to earth that lovely head,
Had turn'd his form to stone.
He sees the cheek whose rosy flush
Outvied at morn the eastern blush,
Now horrible in death!
He sees the lips he oft has prest;
O ne'er on his those lips shall rest!
Cold is the fond and happy breast!
Mute is the tuneful breath!
Still, motionless, Alfonzo gaz'd,
Though friends and courtiers crowded round;
Till Blanch the lovely Infant rais'd,
And kiss'd and lav'd with tears the wound;
And wip'd it with her silken tress:
Then with wild start his speech he found,
“Drag hence the murderess!”
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