Queen Berengaria's Courtesy, and Other Poems By the Lady E. Stuart Wortley. In Three Vols |
 | I, II, III. |
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THE WORLD OF GRAVES. |
 | Queen Berengaria's Courtesy, and Other Poems |  |
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THE WORLD OF GRAVES.
The birds may sing, the flowers may blow,
And all look glad and gay—
Splendour and music bring but woe—
When thou art far away!
And all look glad and gay—
Splendour and music bring but woe—
When thou art far away!
I ask, “Can this indeed be spring?”—
While tears unbidden start;
'Tis but to me, whom sufferings wring
One winter of the heart!
While tears unbidden start;
'Tis but to me, whom sufferings wring
One winter of the heart!
The flowers are breathless things of bloom,
They speak no language now;
To me alike, seems glare or gloom—
The bare or blossomed bough.
They speak no language now;
To me alike, seems glare or gloom—
The bare or blossomed bough.
111
I gaze indeed upon the ground,
But not its pride to view—
Thus strown with garlands free—unbound—
Of many a glowing hue!
But not its pride to view—
Thus strown with garlands free—unbound—
Of many a glowing hue!
I feel all Spring's bright bloom and breath
Is nothing in mine eyes,
Compared with that repose of Death—
That far beneath it lies!—
Is nothing in mine eyes,
Compared with that repose of Death—
That far beneath it lies!—
How many a one is laid in rest
Beneath this flowery pall
Of Death, and Peace, and Sleep—the guest
That yet shall come to all.
Beneath this flowery pall
Of Death, and Peace, and Sleep—the guest
That yet shall come to all.
Fair flowers, ye are not half so fair
As that which ye conceal—
The peace those silent Sleepers share—
Beyond all fancied weal!
As that which ye conceal—
The peace those silent Sleepers share—
Beyond all fancied weal!
112
What very folly 'tis to weep,
For those that stricken fall,
Because they sleep the sweetest sleep,
And bear the tenderest thrall:—
For those that stricken fall,
Because they sleep the sweetest sleep,
And bear the tenderest thrall:—
Because they are from grief removed—
Tears, suffering, change, and death—
Aye! Death!—for once they trembling roved,
And feared his icy breath.
Tears, suffering, change, and death—
Aye! Death!—for once they trembling roved,
And feared his icy breath.
They moved his certain sway beneath,
Expectant of the tomb;
But now they mock the might of Death,—
To them he cannot come!
Expectant of the tomb;
But now they mock the might of Death,—
To them he cannot come!
We are his subjects—we his slaves—
He marks us for his own;
We walk along a world of graves—
To one—the deep—and lone!
He marks us for his own;
We walk along a world of graves—
To one—the deep—and lone!
113
He threatens us at every turn,
And shadows o'er our life;
And proffers us the funeral urn
For all our toil and strife!
And shadows o'er our life;
And proffers us the funeral urn
For all our toil and strife!
We are his Subjects—we his Slaves;
We tremble round his throne.—
Is this indeed a world of graves?
Of one—and that our own!
We tremble round his throne.—
Is this indeed a world of graves?
Of one—and that our own!
The myriads that are sleeping round
Are free from his stern sway;—
The moment that Death gave the wound—
They fled, they soared away.—
Are free from his stern sway;—
The moment that Death gave the wound—
They fled, they soared away.—
But feel we not o'er us he yet—
Exults—his certain prey—
We cannot shun, nor can forget—
The tyrant's coming day.—
Exults—his certain prey—
We cannot shun, nor can forget—
The tyrant's coming day.—
114
Death, Death, I long to shun and spurn
Thy gloomy sway of fear—
And yet a sway which more I mourn
More dangerous—though more dear.
Thy gloomy sway of fear—
And yet a sway which more I mourn
More dangerous—though more dear.
The sway of Love—tremendous power!—
That shadoweth o'er my life,
And points to thee—and thy stern hour,
Sole guerdon of his grief!
That shadoweth o'er my life,
And points to thee—and thy stern hour,
Sole guerdon of his grief!
| Queen Berengaria's Courtesy, and Other Poems | |