 | Three Hundred Sonnets |  |
120
JANE GREY.
So young, so fair, so simple, so deceived!—For all thy learning could not teach thee guile,
Nor warn thee from that base domestic wile
Which coil'd thee like a serpent, and bereaved
Thy heart of life, of loyal praise thy name,—
Posterity is just; and from the blame
Of stealing for thyself another's crown
And playing false in hot ambition's game
Declares thee innocent: that little week
Of splendour forced and fear'd, so soon laid down,
Cost thee most bitter wages;—yet most sweet,
If prison-haunting wisdom bade thee seek
This heav'nly crown, for thy fair brow so meet,
This higher majesty my song would greet.
| Three Hundred Sonnets | |