England A Historical Poem. By John Walker Ord |
 |
|
|
|
THE YOUNG PRINCES IN THE TOWER.
(REIGN OF RICHARD III.—1483-1485) |
|
|
 | England |  |
235
THE YOUNG PRINCES IN THE TOWER. (REIGN OF RICHARD III.—1483-1485)
“Their lips were four red roses on a stalk,
And in their summer beauty kiss'd each other;
A book of prayers on their pillow lay [OMITTED]
------ them we smother'd
The most replenish'd sweet work of Nature
That from the prime creation ere she formed.”
Shakspeare's Rich. II.
And in their summer beauty kiss'd each other;
A book of prayers on their pillow lay [OMITTED]
------ them we smother'd
The most replenish'd sweet work of Nature
That from the prime creation ere she formed.”
Shakspeare's Rich. II.
------ “We still have slept together,
Rose at an instant, learn'd, play'd, eat together,
And wheresoe'er we went, like Juno's swans,
Still went coupled and inseparable.”
—As you Like it.
Rose at an instant, learn'd, play'd, eat together,
And wheresoe'er we went, like Juno's swans,
Still went coupled and inseparable.”
—As you Like it.
See, the sweet children lie in blessed sleep,
Their faces clad in smiles of pleasant dream,
As if they never yet had learnt to weep!
Their curling locks throw out a golden gleam—
Their pure, fair cheeks, ev'n as young cherubs' beam:
Soft lie their silken eyelids, softer still
The slumber underneath, and, well I deem,
That two young birds, aye fed from the same bill,
Than these two sleeping babes, ne'er lov'd with sweeter will.
Their faces clad in smiles of pleasant dream,
As if they never yet had learnt to weep!
Their curling locks throw out a golden gleam—
Their pure, fair cheeks, ev'n as young cherubs' beam:
Soft lie their silken eyelids, softer still
The slumber underneath, and, well I deem,
That two young birds, aye fed from the same bill,
Than these two sleeping babes, ne'er lov'd with sweeter will.
Their dear eyes look'd the same, they spake the same,
With self-same curl their sunlit hair hung down;
Alike each pleasure and alike each game—
All of the one, the other made his own:
Loves, fears, hates, joys—in nought were they alone.
The wood-walks knew their feet—the quiet brook
Mirror'd their forms, and mourn'd when they had gone:
The flowered fields all knew their happy look,
And their young hearts were taught from Nature's holy book.
With self-same curl their sunlit hair hung down;
Alike each pleasure and alike each game—
All of the one, the other made his own:
236
The wood-walks knew their feet—the quiet brook
Mirror'd their forms, and mourn'd when they had gone:
The flowered fields all knew their happy look,
And their young hearts were taught from Nature's holy book.
No two young doves upon the self-same bough—
No two fresh blossoms, born on the same tree—
No two bright stars, together on heaven's brow—
No two glad sea-birds, resting on the sea,
Were e'er so like, or did so well agree:
All lov'd them, for they were so pure and bright—
So good and kind, in spirit all so free,
They seem'd young angels dropt upon our night,
All shrived and spotless made, to fill the earth with light!
No two fresh blossoms, born on the same tree—
No two bright stars, together on heaven's brow—
No two glad sea-birds, resting on the sea,
Were e'er so like, or did so well agree:
All lov'd them, for they were so pure and bright—
So good and kind, in spirit all so free,
They seem'd young angels dropt upon our night,
All shrived and spotless made, to fill the earth with light!
O, say, can human passion venture here?
Can earthly stain dim flowers so heavenly bright?
See, how like carved marble, polish'd clear,
The lovely dreamers lie encas'd in light,
Shedding a radiance o'er the brow of night!
Can human hand unlock that soft embrace—
Empty those violet veins, and stop the might
Of the sweet life that runs along each face?
Aye, even on Eden's flowers red blood hath left the trace!
Can earthly stain dim flowers so heavenly bright?
See, how like carved marble, polish'd clear,
The lovely dreamers lie encas'd in light,
Shedding a radiance o'er the brow of night!
Can human hand unlock that soft embrace—
Empty those violet veins, and stop the might
Of the sweet life that runs along each face?
Aye, even on Eden's flowers red blood hath left the trace!
Oh, ye sleep well! the flower was just in bloom,
'Mid the fresh dew-drops, when the swift blight came;
The first sweet song was murmur'd, the perfume
Of the young May just felt; the mellow gleam
Of the bright morn just shed its purple flame;
The shadow on the blue—the wreck-strewn wave—
The horrid fears that mingle in life's game—
Care-wrinkled hag, that broodeth by a grave,
They knew not; their eyes clos'd ere sorrow left her cave.
'Mid the fresh dew-drops, when the swift blight came;
The first sweet song was murmur'd, the perfume
237
Of the bright morn just shed its purple flame;
The shadow on the blue—the wreck-strewn wave—
The horrid fears that mingle in life's game—
Care-wrinkled hag, that broodeth by a grave,
They knew not; their eyes clos'd ere sorrow left her cave.
They were so pure, the winds might scare them not;
No evil thing dar'd touch their golden head;
Angels walk'd with them in each gloomy spot;
And, when they lay upon the midnight bed,
Spirits sang o'er them of the saintly dead;
And, when they died amid the prison's gloom,
Celestial shapes the radiant children led
To sit at God's right hand—their brows array'd
With amaranthine wreaths and crowns that will not fade.
No evil thing dar'd touch their golden head;
Angels walk'd with them in each gloomy spot;
And, when they lay upon the midnight bed,
Spirits sang o'er them of the saintly dead;
And, when they died amid the prison's gloom,
Celestial shapes the radiant children led
To sit at God's right hand—their brows array'd
With amaranthine wreaths and crowns that will not fade.
Sleep on—blest little ones—your slumber take:
The grave will hold ye well—though murder glare
Upon your slumbers, and his red locks shake!
What, though no mother kiss those cheeks so fair,
Nor on those foreheads drop the tender tear;—
What, though no mother's gentle fingers close
Those violet eyes, nor comb your golden hair;
Ye are at rest—asleep your earthly woes,
Escap'd from all the ruth and pain that manhood knows.
The grave will hold ye well—though murder glare
Upon your slumbers, and his red locks shake!
What, though no mother kiss those cheeks so fair,
Nor on those foreheads drop the tender tear;—
What, though no mother's gentle fingers close
Those violet eyes, nor comb your golden hair;
Ye are at rest—asleep your earthly woes,
Escap'd from all the ruth and pain that manhood knows.
Your lullaby shall be the slumb'rous wind—
And, like a mother's voice, 'twill sound for you:
Instead of tears, the summer rain shall find
Your faded cheeks, and cool each pallid brow;
The softest breezes from the west shall blow;
The brightest flowers shall blossom on each breast;
The warmest sunbeams shall their gladness throw
Among the waving grass that clothes your rest;
All heaven and earth shall join to make you truly blest.
And, like a mother's voice, 'twill sound for you:
238
Your faded cheeks, and cool each pallid brow;
The softest breezes from the west shall blow;
The brightest flowers shall blossom on each breast;
The warmest sunbeams shall their gladness throw
Among the waving grass that clothes your rest;
All heaven and earth shall join to make you truly blest.
And ye shall rise before the God on high,
In snow-white robes, and sing aloud his praise;
And they shall do ye homage in the skies,
And ye shall rest among the milky ways:
And your sweet innocent voices aye shall raise
Blest anthems, that shall swell around the throne;
About your robes shall stream celestial rays—
And, 'mong the cherubim, with golden crown,
Ye evermore shall sit, in majesty alone!
In snow-white robes, and sing aloud his praise;
And they shall do ye homage in the skies,
And ye shall rest among the milky ways:
And your sweet innocent voices aye shall raise
Blest anthems, that shall swell around the throne;
About your robes shall stream celestial rays—
And, 'mong the cherubim, with golden crown,
Ye evermore shall sit, in majesty alone!
| England | |