Metrical essays :: :: University of Virginia Library

“What most excited the compassion of the people was the execution of Lady Jane Gray, and her husband Lord Guilford Dudley, who were involved in the punishment, though not in the guilt of this insurrection.” History of England.

I

Dark closed the melancholy day—
The heavy night came on—
The rough winds swept around the tower,
With a sad unearthly tone:
Like a funeral dirge on the prisoner's ear,
The wailing tempest came;
And she pressed her hand, almost in fear,
On her cheek and brow of flame.

II

“The morn is charged with death,” she cried
“But lesser pain that doom
Than my heart-sickening solitude,
These sounds, this madd'ning gloom;
O! thou, whom my young heart first loved!—
Who shared my dream-like power;
Methinks I hear thy bitter curse
Rise on me in this hour!

III

“Had we ne'er met—had not thy lot
Been linked, alas! with mine,
Thou might'st have gain'd a glorious name,
Where arms in battle shine;
Thou might'st have died as heroes die,
'Mid many a hostile brand;—
But now, dishonour'd dost thou fall—
Death, from the headsman's hand!

IV

“Thou said'st it was thy dearest wish
To see me once again;
This to deny thee, love, increas'd
Still more my bosom's pain;
But ah! to know what I must know,
To feel what I must feel,
Brings more of cureless agony
Than words may e'er reveal.

V

“Dudley, farewell! to us on earth,
A stormy course is given;
Yet know there is for breaking hearts,
A home of peace in heaven;
Keep we this hope—though dread our path,
It must be firmly trod;—
Thou, in that wild, subduing hour,
Be with me, O my God!”

VI

It is the morn that heavily
Looks from the sombre sky;
No sun beams forth a cheering ray,
No warbling bird wings by;
The dim land mourns the banished sounds
Of morning's wonted mirth:—
O! surely yon mysterious heaven
Holds converse now with earth!

VII

There is a deep, hoarse murmuring heard—
A multitude have met;
They speak of one whose star of life
For evermore hath set;
They speak of her heroic mind,
Of her yet tender years,
Her loveliness no grief could mar—
And cannot stay their tears.

VIII

But what to her may now avail
The sorrow here exprest?
The woes which rack'd her soul are past—
Her weary heart finds rest:
All earth has vanished like a dream
The sleeper long wished o'er,
And nought of mortal hate or love
May ever reach her more!