 | England |  |
111
JANE SHORE.
“Proper she was and fair, yet delighted not men so much in her beauty as in her pleasant behaviour; for a proper wit had she, and could both read well and write; ready and quick of answer; neither mute nor babbling.
Many mistresses the king had, but her he lov'd; whose favour, to say the truth, she never abused to any man's hurt, but often employed to many a man's relief.”
—Sir T. More's Holinshed, 384.
“Thy error was that thou hadst loved so well—
So passionately, with a power that might not die—
That thou didst suffer in thy heart to dwell
This imag'd god, in mad idolatry,
Who came on wings from love's empurpled sky!
O, heart of woman, full of strength divine,
And full of truth, pure feeling, passion high;
How shall I duly raise th' inspired line—
How shall I sing aloud the honours that are thine?”
—England, Vol. 1, Page 112.
So passionately, with a power that might not die—
That thou didst suffer in thy heart to dwell
This imag'd god, in mad idolatry,
Who came on wings from love's empurpled sky!
O, heart of woman, full of strength divine,
And full of truth, pure feeling, passion high;
How shall I duly raise th' inspired line—
How shall I sing aloud the honours that are thine?”
—England, Vol. 1, Page 112.
It is a lovely day, we'll sing of love!
The sun moves calmly through his halls of blue,
The proud, bright sky his own; and, from above,
Showers dreams of love and bliss. There is a hue
Upon the hills, that, to the poet's view,
Seems loveliness asleep, so rich so fair.
The sea is fill'd with shadows ever new,
Sent from the sky; and mermaids comb their hair
Among its verdant isles, and sing unto the air.
The sun moves calmly through his halls of blue,
The proud, bright sky his own; and, from above,
Showers dreams of love and bliss. There is a hue
Upon the hills, that, to the poet's view,
Seems loveliness asleep, so rich so fair.
The sea is fill'd with shadows ever new,
Sent from the sky; and mermaids comb their hair
Among its verdant isles, and sing unto the air.
112
“It is a lovely day, we'll sing of love.”
It minds me of the blue Italian clime,
Where haughty maidens in their bowers move,
And list their lovers 'mid the summer's prime.
It minds me of bright Greece, where, once, sublime
Heroes and demi-gods held rule. Where, now,
Maidens, as fair as those of ancient time,
Exist, and listen to the moonlight vow,
And lean on loving bosoms the rich pearled brow.
It minds me of the blue Italian clime,
Where haughty maidens in their bowers move,
And list their lovers 'mid the summer's prime.
It minds me of bright Greece, where, once, sublime
Heroes and demi-gods held rule. Where, now,
Maidens, as fair as those of ancient time,
Exist, and listen to the moonlight vow,
And lean on loving bosoms the rich pearled brow.
It minds me of far distant lands, where rain,
And storm, and hurricane are never known!
Where, in deep forests, by the streamlet's plain,
The naked savage wanders forth, alone,
And listens to the aspen's tremulous tone,
Or Love's strange voices murmuring in his ear:—
Of times, when heaven far purer, brighter shone
On shepherds wandering without pain or fear,
Filling, with dreams of love, that balmy atmosphere.
And storm, and hurricane are never known!
Where, in deep forests, by the streamlet's plain,
The naked savage wanders forth, alone,
And listens to the aspen's tremulous tone,
Or Love's strange voices murmuring in his ear:—
Of times, when heaven far purer, brighter shone
On shepherds wandering without pain or fear,
Filling, with dreams of love, that balmy atmosphere.
It minds me of that bright but faded day,
When, 'mid untrodden bowers of perfect bliss,
Our first celestial parents sweetly lay,
Talking of heaven, and hope, and happiness:—
Or when, in after dreams of tenderness,
They sweetly rested on the perfum'd rose;
And, amourously ecstatic, still did press
In love's delicious tremor of repose,
Forgetting, in deep bliss, the weight of all their woes.
When, 'mid untrodden bowers of perfect bliss,
Our first celestial parents sweetly lay,
Talking of heaven, and hope, and happiness:—
Or when, in after dreams of tenderness,
They sweetly rested on the perfum'd rose;
And, amourously ecstatic, still did press
In love's delicious tremor of repose,
Forgetting, in deep bliss, the weight of all their woes.
113
And farther still my vision loves to go,
Through whirling mists of time; when, in the sky,
Love's earliest fountains first began to flow,
Hurling the blacken'd clouds of chaos by,
Making the sun and stars to shine on high,
And the blue heavens to spread above us all;
When seraphim sung hymns eternally,
'Mid the celestial blaze, that loud did roll
Melodiously and deep, along the heavenly hall.
Through whirling mists of time; when, in the sky,
Love's earliest fountains first began to flow,
Hurling the blacken'd clouds of chaos by,
Making the sun and stars to shine on high,
And the blue heavens to spread above us all;
When seraphim sung hymns eternally,
'Mid the celestial blaze, that loud did roll
Melodiously and deep, along the heavenly hall.
Ere God was yet a judge, (for sin was not)
But father o'er a peaceful family;
Ere lightning or the thunderbolt had shot
Along the spheres; whilst the blue depths were free
Of cloud or gloom. Yea, when majestically,
With legion'd myriads of angels round,
Amid insufferable splendour, He,
Himself, was Love—the centre of all Bound—
The eternal Love, whom worlds and chaos did surround,
But father o'er a peaceful family;
Ere lightning or the thunderbolt had shot
Along the spheres; whilst the blue depths were free
Of cloud or gloom. Yea, when majestically,
With legion'd myriads of angels round,
Amid insufferable splendour, He,
Himself, was Love—the centre of all Bound—
The eternal Love, whom worlds and chaos did surround,
The mower wets his scythe among the grass;
The milkmaid singeth loud her heart's delight;
Among the hay the joke and banter pass,
Each hand is strong and every heart is light;
The birds lie still among their bowers bright;
Beneath their banks the spotted trout retreat;
The silly sheep can scarcely bear their weight;
The cattle frisk amid the sultry heat;
The heron by the river takes his lonely seat.
The milkmaid singeth loud her heart's delight;
Among the hay the joke and banter pass,
Each hand is strong and every heart is light;
The birds lie still among their bowers bright;
Beneath their banks the spotted trout retreat;
The silly sheep can scarcely bear their weight;
The cattle frisk amid the sultry heat;
The heron by the river takes his lonely seat.
114
At night the dew-drops glitter on each tree,
Beneath whose shadow sleeps the spotted deer;
At night the moonbeams wander lovingly
O'er lovers that, on violet beds, in dear
Caresses, mingle without dread or fear;
(For love hath nought of rings or trumpery,
But, in its own pure innocence shines clear;
Love hath no laws, but, like a star i' the sky,
Can shoot, where'er it will, in constant brilliancy.)
Beneath whose shadow sleeps the spotted deer;
At night the moonbeams wander lovingly
O'er lovers that, on violet beds, in dear
Caresses, mingle without dread or fear;
(For love hath nought of rings or trumpery,
But, in its own pure innocence shines clear;
Love hath no laws, but, like a star i' the sky,
Can shoot, where'er it will, in constant brilliancy.)
The hawk and raven dare not leave their home;
The wild fox broodeth in his lonely lair;
The owl and silent bat, afraid to roam,
Snuff, in their hollows, night's delicious air:
The fairies dance, and comb their silken hair,
On the green grass, and, on the moonbeams, dance,
And, with sweet buttercups and daisies fair,
Wreathe perfum'd garlands, and, with look askance,
The nightly spirits greet that on the breezes glance;
The wild fox broodeth in his lonely lair;
The owl and silent bat, afraid to roam,
Snuff, in their hollows, night's delicious air:
The fairies dance, and comb their silken hair,
On the green grass, and, on the moonbeams, dance,
And, with sweet buttercups and daisies fair,
Wreathe perfum'd garlands, and, with look askance,
The nightly spirits greet that on the breezes glance;
And, to the enraptur'd poet in his sleep,
Whisper delicious dreams of ecstacy,
Which, waking, leave him but to sigh and weep!
And brightly glide before the mourner's eye,
As if his lady-love had left the sky,
And shone in all her heavenly robes again;
Or, in fantastic trappings, wanton nigh
With merry elves, and Cupids in their train,
Bright, laughing, dancing shapes that skip along the brain.
Whisper delicious dreams of ecstacy,
Which, waking, leave him but to sigh and weep!
And brightly glide before the mourner's eye,
As if his lady-love had left the sky,
And shone in all her heavenly robes again;
Or, in fantastic trappings, wanton nigh
With merry elves, and Cupids in their train,
Bright, laughing, dancing shapes that skip along the brain.
115
Alas, why is it in this weary round,
That love should be so lorn and desolate,
That all the worshippers that her surround
Should be the victims of despair and hate?
What is the curse that lingers with our fate—
The curse that burns the eye and breaks the heart?
Why, dwelling as she doth, in gentlest state,
Do such rude storms her battlements dispart?
Why Cupid's arrows link'd with Death's tremendous dart?
That love should be so lorn and desolate,
That all the worshippers that her surround
Should be the victims of despair and hate?
What is the curse that lingers with our fate—
The curse that burns the eye and breaks the heart?
Why, dwelling as she doth, in gentlest state,
Do such rude storms her battlements dispart?
Why Cupid's arrows link'd with Death's tremendous dart?
Why is it that she cannot lay her head
Among the roses, but must feel the thorn?
That her delicious essence cannot wed
With earthly dust, but poisonous airs be born?
That all our hopes must sink despoil'd and worn?
Why, like the rainbow, doth she gorgeous show
Brightest in clouds, by coming sunbeams shorn
Of all her beauty? Why her footsteps flow
Through horrid paths, where nought but fear and danger go?
Among the roses, but must feel the thorn?
That her delicious essence cannot wed
With earthly dust, but poisonous airs be born?
That all our hopes must sink despoil'd and worn?
Why, like the rainbow, doth she gorgeous show
Brightest in clouds, by coming sunbeams shorn
Of all her beauty? Why her footsteps flow
Through horrid paths, where nought but fear and danger go?
Why hath she not an atmosphere of bliss,
An air Elysian, stainless, pure, and bright,
Where she may dwell in bowers of tenderness,
And have her couch in constant summer light?
Why, as a spirit of the moonlit night,
May she not breathe among the stars, and fly
Among the silver clouds in her delight?
And, high enthron'd upon the amorous sky,
Be as a constant presence to the aching eye!
An air Elysian, stainless, pure, and bright,
Where she may dwell in bowers of tenderness,
And have her couch in constant summer light?
Why, as a spirit of the moonlit night,
May she not breathe among the stars, and fly
Among the silver clouds in her delight?
And, high enthron'd upon the amorous sky,
Be as a constant presence to the aching eye!
116
But as it is, we desolately pine,
Weeping in our exceeding bitterness,
For shapes to greet us, lovely and divine—
Sometimes, in visions, we devoutly press
The phantom to our heart in love's caress.
Sometimes we listen to a heavenly voice
That murmurs of delight and happiness;
And, with sweet warble, bids us to rejoice:
We wake, and see no more the being of our choice.
Weeping in our exceeding bitterness,
For shapes to greet us, lovely and divine—
Sometimes, in visions, we devoutly press
The phantom to our heart in love's caress.
Sometimes we listen to a heavenly voice
That murmurs of delight and happiness;
And, with sweet warble, bids us to rejoice:
We wake, and see no more the being of our choice.
Is it not so?—I ask lamenting time—
I ask each royal and each humble maid,
Who feel the sudden lightning in their prime,
Fading like violets in the mossy shade.
Ye silent forms, in mourning all array'd,
Blood-stain'd and sad, your tresses soil'd and torn,
That glide before me, silent and dismay'd,
O, is not love of all her beauty shorn,
A wanderer on the earth, sad, craz'd, and all forlorn?
I ask each royal and each humble maid,
Who feel the sudden lightning in their prime,
Fading like violets in the mossy shade.
Ye silent forms, in mourning all array'd,
Blood-stain'd and sad, your tresses soil'd and torn,
That glide before me, silent and dismay'd,
O, is not love of all her beauty shorn,
A wanderer on the earth, sad, craz'd, and all forlorn?
Speak out my bleeding heart—thou, thou can'st tell;
Thou, o'er the seas canst bring thy tale of woe
Of one, who in her innocence doth dwell,
A blessed angel dropt on earth below,
One beauteous shape, that, wheresoe'er I go,
Even like a star of light directs my way;
Encircling me as doth the heavenly bow:
To whom, as to a goddess, I would pay
My homage, and before her favour'd footstool lay.
Thou, o'er the seas canst bring thy tale of woe
Of one, who in her innocence doth dwell,
A blessed angel dropt on earth below,
One beauteous shape, that, wheresoe'er I go,
Even like a star of light directs my way;
Encircling me as doth the heavenly bow:
To whom, as to a goddess, I would pay
My homage, and before her favour'd footstool lay.
117
I see thee now, fair Margaret,—rob'd in white;
Thy spiritual shape delights mine eager eye;
Thy glistering tresses roll in floods of light,
And in fair wreaths enclose thy forehead high:
Clear pearls upon thy lovely bosom lie,
(Would I were they!) and thy large orbs divine,
The eagles, then the doves, gaze pensively;
Life, love, and beauty in thy countenance shine,
And dreams of purest hope and passion intertwine.
Thy spiritual shape delights mine eager eye;
Thy glistering tresses roll in floods of light,
And in fair wreaths enclose thy forehead high:
Clear pearls upon thy lovely bosom lie,
(Would I were they!) and thy large orbs divine,
The eagles, then the doves, gaze pensively;
Life, love, and beauty in thy countenance shine,
And dreams of purest hope and passion intertwine.
But, hark!—I hear her rich voice speak to me,
Sweeter than is the gentlest western breeze;
Sweeter than any warbled minstrelsy,
Echo'd at evening from the sunlit trees!
Its tones are rich with human ministries.
And, lo, I see her move!—O, angel bright,
Go not away beyond those angry seas!
O leave not thus my dim and longing sight—
How can I stay behind thee, vision of delight!
Sweeter than is the gentlest western breeze;
Sweeter than any warbled minstrelsy,
Echo'd at evening from the sunlit trees!
Its tones are rich with human ministries.
And, lo, I see her move!—O, angel bright,
Go not away beyond those angry seas!
O leave not thus my dim and longing sight—
How can I stay behind thee, vision of delight!
For, when I look upon a violet
Half-hid, half-seen, or, on a shining star,
I think on thee, beloved Margaret!
And, when I look unto the heavens afar,
And view the milk-white moon; and hear the jar
Melodious of the spheres, and see the blue
Among the clouds—Borealis in his car—
The fluttering veils of light—each lovely hue—
Thee, with these heavenly things, my vision doth embue.
Half-hid, half-seen, or, on a shining star,
I think on thee, beloved Margaret!
And, when I look unto the heavens afar,
And view the milk-white moon; and hear the jar
Melodious of the spheres, and see the blue
Among the clouds—Borealis in his car—
The fluttering veils of light—each lovely hue—
Thee, with these heavenly things, my vision doth embue.
118
Yea, shape of exquisite beauty, 'tis with thee
I match all perfect things, and them compare!
The beauteous shells, earth's presents from the sea;
Flowrets, that in lone valleys linger fair;
The hues of gorgeous plumage on the air;
The hawthorn bloom; the wild-rose newly born;
Dew-drops and silken mosses deck'd with care
By fairies; and the eglantine unshorn;
All these I join with thee, thou creature of the morn!
I match all perfect things, and them compare!
The beauteous shells, earth's presents from the sea;
Flowrets, that in lone valleys linger fair;
The hues of gorgeous plumage on the air;
The hawthorn bloom; the wild-rose newly born;
Dew-drops and silken mosses deck'd with care
By fairies; and the eglantine unshorn;
All these I join with thee, thou creature of the morn!
But, O, why linger on an idle theme?
Why clasp a phantom, that will pass away?
Why dally with a vain and hollow dream?
Petrarca is beyond the realms of day;
Tasso his adorations may not pay
To his high Leonora! All alone
I yearn, and sadly weave my mournful lay;
And at deep midnight must lament and moan
Dim and departed memories—O, for ever gone!
Why clasp a phantom, that will pass away?
Why dally with a vain and hollow dream?
Petrarca is beyond the realms of day;
Tasso his adorations may not pay
To his high Leonora! All alone
I yearn, and sadly weave my mournful lay;
And at deep midnight must lament and moan
Dim and departed memories—O, for ever gone!
Yet, blessed Margaret, I will not go
Without imploring Heaven's sweet care for thee:
May balmiest breezes through thy ringlets flow,
And kiss thy forehead as they wander free;
May gentlest airs embrace thee lovingly;
And sweetest flowers make carpets for thy feet;
And, when at night thou bend'st the praying knee,
May holy angels leave their heavenly seat,
And, warble in thy dreams, seraphically sweet.
Without imploring Heaven's sweet care for thee:
May balmiest breezes through thy ringlets flow,
And kiss thy forehead as they wander free;
May gentlest airs embrace thee lovingly;
And sweetest flowers make carpets for thy feet;
And, when at night thou bend'st the praying knee,
May holy angels leave their heavenly seat,
And, warble in thy dreams, seraphically sweet.
119
And, oh, but let me dash away these tears,
Which, from their burning fountains, fill mine eye:
If heaven my faint and feeble wishes hears,
May all thy future life pass lovingly;
And, if that gorgeous head should ever lie
On love's proud breast; and that seraphic face,
'Mid the moon's light, be gaz'd on tenderly;
May rapture high, and true-love leave their trace,
And from the union spring a pure and lofty race.
Which, from their burning fountains, fill mine eye:
If heaven my faint and feeble wishes hears,
May all thy future life pass lovingly;
And, if that gorgeous head should ever lie
On love's proud breast; and that seraphic face,
'Mid the moon's light, be gaz'd on tenderly;
May rapture high, and true-love leave their trace,
And from the union spring a pure and lofty race.
Ages have past away since lovely Shore,
With royal Edward linger'd in her bower;
Ages and ages now have moulder'd o'er,
Since first she heard him at the twilight hour,
Into her ear rich tones of passion pour;
Seated where clematis, and eglantine,
And the white clambering rose, their scents did shower;
Whilst, through the flowery vistas, heaven did shine,
And the green mountains tower'd with the proud oak and pine.
With royal Edward linger'd in her bower;
Ages and ages now have moulder'd o'er,
Since first she heard him at the twilight hour,
Into her ear rich tones of passion pour;
Seated where clematis, and eglantine,
And the white clambering rose, their scents did shower;
Whilst, through the flowery vistas, heaven did shine,
And the green mountains tower'd with the proud oak and pine.
Seated where the tall elms like giants stood;
And the old patriarchal sycamore,
Among his blossoms bore the myriad brood
Of honey-bees, whose songs melodious bore
Into the heart the memories of yore:
Yea, there they sat in amorous languishment,
The kingly Edward and the gentle Shore;
And the birds sang along the firmament
Their hymeneal loud, in vespers ministrant!
And the old patriarchal sycamore,
Among his blossoms bore the myriad brood
Of honey-bees, whose songs melodious bore
Into the heart the memories of yore:
Yea, there they sat in amorous languishment,
The kingly Edward and the gentle Shore;
And the birds sang along the firmament
Their hymeneal loud, in vespers ministrant!
120
The breezes bore light rose-leaves, that did play
About her, and then settled on her hair,
Like snow-white pearls, and crown'd her queen of May,
Birds, breezes, flowers, perfumes, all things there
Did humble homage to a thing so fair.
The laughing Cupids danc'd upon the green
In rapture, viewing that voluptuous pair,
And shot away their shafts. The lovely queen
Of love look'd down, and dreamt of ancient times, I ween.
About her, and then settled on her hair,
Like snow-white pearls, and crown'd her queen of May,
Birds, breezes, flowers, perfumes, all things there
Did humble homage to a thing so fair.
The laughing Cupids danc'd upon the green
In rapture, viewing that voluptuous pair,
And shot away their shafts. The lovely queen
Of love look'd down, and dreamt of ancient times, I ween.
The oak-tree and the birch, enfolded quite,
And wav'd by summer breezes in the shade,
Might simile that fair and gentle sight—
That manly lover—that confiding maid:
And, as her tresses down her shoulders stray'd,
As pine-tree shadows stream o'er mountain-snow;
And her dark eyes look'd into his for aid;
And, on his breast, she leant her lovely brow,
Whilst round them, like a halo, shone the evening glow.
And wav'd by summer breezes in the shade,
Might simile that fair and gentle sight—
That manly lover—that confiding maid:
And, as her tresses down her shoulders stray'd,
As pine-tree shadows stream o'er mountain-snow;
And her dark eyes look'd into his for aid;
And, on his breast, she leant her lovely brow,
Whilst round them, like a halo, shone the evening glow.
It was a sight of perfect happiness—
O, what a pleasant thing requited love!
How the heart leaps with deep and passionate bliss!
What balm and incense o'er the feelings move!
A beauty, nourish'd in far realms above,
Clothes all things, and the pulseless air feels pride:
Creatures of loveliness around us move,
'Mid silver mists, and lofty visions glide
Within the chamber'd brain, and there on thrones abide!
O, what a pleasant thing requited love!
How the heart leaps with deep and passionate bliss!
What balm and incense o'er the feelings move!
A beauty, nourish'd in far realms above,
Clothes all things, and the pulseless air feels pride:
Creatures of loveliness around us move,
'Mid silver mists, and lofty visions glide
Within the chamber'd brain, and there on thrones abide!
121
The scene is chang'd. On tower and battlement,
Lodge, window, balcony, and every tree,
Thousands of anxious multitudes are bent,
To view this gentle lady's infamy.
Yet all do grieve so sad a sight to see,
She was so kind, so good, so meek to all;
None ever sought her, but she gave them fee;
None e'er was chain'd, but she relieved their thrall;
Her ear was always open to the suppliant's call.
Lodge, window, balcony, and every tree,
Thousands of anxious multitudes are bent,
To view this gentle lady's infamy.
Yet all do grieve so sad a sight to see,
She was so kind, so good, so meek to all;
None ever sought her, but she gave them fee;
None e'er was chain'd, but she relieved their thrall;
Her ear was always open to the suppliant's call.
She seems a lovely ghost, attir'd in white,
Bearing a taper to her lover's tomb;
Her beauty casts a lustre on the night,
A splendour that illumines the deep gloom;
And, where she breathes, the air is all perfume.
O, cruel, that those snowy feet must press
The pointed flints! O, what a bitter doom,
That such a lovely breast, in nakedness
The chilling blasts now feel, that felt a king's caress!
Bearing a taper to her lover's tomb;
Her beauty casts a lustre on the night,
A splendour that illumines the deep gloom;
And, where she breathes, the air is all perfume.
O, cruel, that those snowy feet must press
The pointed flints! O, what a bitter doom,
That such a lovely breast, in nakedness
The chilling blasts now feel, that felt a king's caress!
But, doth not Edward's Queen as bitterly
(The lady whom we sung) lament alone?
On the cold rushes doth she bend the knee,
Gazing for solace on the heedless moon,
That, like some old enchantress, mocks her moan.
Yea queen and mistress both are desolate!
Both, who in such exceeding beauty shone,
Richly attir'd, and holding sovran state,
Now, in their deep misfortune, miserably mate.
(The lady whom we sung) lament alone?
On the cold rushes doth she bend the knee,
Gazing for solace on the heedless moon,
That, like some old enchantress, mocks her moan.
Yea queen and mistress both are desolate!
Both, who in such exceeding beauty shone,
Richly attir'd, and holding sovran state,
Now, in their deep misfortune, miserably mate.
122
Not unaveng'd!—Richard of York shall hear,
At midnight, phantoms stalk around his bed!—
Clarence shall wildly shriek into his ear
The fiery curses of the unresting dead!—
Hastings shall come and shake his gory head!—
The seraph children, too, shall hover near,
And tears of burning fire upon him shed!—
Shore, Woodville, each shall leave her silent bier,
And shake the murderer's brain with agony and fear!
At midnight, phantoms stalk around his bed!—
Clarence shall wildly shriek into his ear
The fiery curses of the unresting dead!—
Hastings shall come and shake his gory head!—
The seraph children, too, shall hover near,
And tears of burning fire upon him shed!—
Shore, Woodville, each shall leave her silent bier,
And shake the murderer's brain with agony and fear!
Again the scene is chang'd! All silently,
With downcast head and dim retreating eyes,
An aged woman traileth slowly by,
In tattered garments, and most piteous wise,
She moves with pain—she sits—and cannot rise;
And, half upon her knees, implores for food.
O look upon her, ye relenting skies,
And be ye merciful as ye are good!
One groan—and lo! she dies, all dabbled in her blood!
With downcast head and dim retreating eyes,
An aged woman traileth slowly by,
In tattered garments, and most piteous wise,
She moves with pain—she sits—and cannot rise;
And, half upon her knees, implores for food.
O look upon her, ye relenting skies,
And be ye merciful as ye are good!
One groan—and lo! she dies, all dabbled in her blood!
And that was Shore; and queenly even in death,—
In naked misery high; and with an air
Of something noble, to her latest breath.
And so do all things pass of bright and fair—
Fleeting and transient as a falling star!
Youth knows not what its after years may be;
And beauty wists not of the glooms of care;
No state, however lofty, can be free;
The gladdest smile oft springs from secret misery.
In naked misery high; and with an air
Of something noble, to her latest breath.
And so do all things pass of bright and fair—
Fleeting and transient as a falling star!
Youth knows not what its after years may be;
And beauty wists not of the glooms of care;
No state, however lofty, can be free;
The gladdest smile oft springs from secret misery.
123
She, in the pomp of beauty, had lain down
On silken couches, fann'd by love's caresses;
The stars had seen her blushes, and the moon
Sent silvery beams among her flowing tresses,
That roam'd at wanton will 'mid love's excesses.
A monarch's paramour is soil'd with mire.
All bless'd her—there is now not one that blesses;
The eye of lightning and the heart of fire,
The tongue of sweet discourse, quench'd like a broken lyre!
On silken couches, fann'd by love's caresses;
The stars had seen her blushes, and the moon
Sent silvery beams among her flowing tresses,
That roam'd at wanton will 'mid love's excesses.
A monarch's paramour is soil'd with mire.
All bless'd her—there is now not one that blesses;
The eye of lightning and the heart of fire,
The tongue of sweet discourse, quench'd like a broken lyre!
O, heavens, ye view full many a bitter thing!
The shatter'd sceptre, and the broken crown;
The crumbled empire lowly withering;
The pyramid and temple mouldering down,
Ye gaze on! And your myriad eyeballs own
Visions of broken hearts; and rayless eyes;
And phrenzied brains that once with genius shone;
And pulseless thoughts that once to you might rise;—
Such sad and doleful sights are gaz'd on by the skies.
The shatter'd sceptre, and the broken crown;
The crumbled empire lowly withering;
The pyramid and temple mouldering down,
Ye gaze on! And your myriad eyeballs own
Visions of broken hearts; and rayless eyes;
And phrenzied brains that once with genius shone;
And pulseless thoughts that once to you might rise;—
Such sad and doleful sights are gaz'd on by the skies.
But there is heavenly calm for those who weep:
The wild-flowers bloom above them, and they go,
On winged feet, to an Elysian sleep.
Death hath ambrosial poppies round his brow;
Delicious opiates at his footsteps grow;
With him the feverish heart shall calmly rest;
And, though no visions through our slumbers flow,
Do we not lie on Nature's lovely breast,
Within her gentle arms, caressing and carest?
The wild-flowers bloom above them, and they go,
On winged feet, to an Elysian sleep.
Death hath ambrosial poppies round his brow;
Delicious opiates at his footsteps grow;
With him the feverish heart shall calmly rest;
And, though no visions through our slumbers flow,
Do we not lie on Nature's lovely breast,
Within her gentle arms, caressing and carest?
124
And, after earthly loss is heavenly gain.
Shriv'd and anointed, they ascend in bliss,
And mingle with the pure and heavenly train.
There, bathed in springs of constant blessedness,
Singing continual hymns, they ever bless
The effulgent Presence; and, with golden crown,
Like heavenly kings, sit side by side, and press
Their hands in saintly love. There never frown
Is seen,—there nought but blissful harmony is known.
Shriv'd and anointed, they ascend in bliss,
And mingle with the pure and heavenly train.
There, bathed in springs of constant blessedness,
Singing continual hymns, they ever bless
The effulgent Presence; and, with golden crown,
Like heavenly kings, sit side by side, and press
Their hands in saintly love. There never frown
Is seen,—there nought but blissful harmony is known.
| England | |