LXXVI. Can ye not tell how looked the Royal Dame,21 And turned a willing ear to air-frothed food Which Flattery's lips, with honeyed tones, let fall? Her clear blue eyes-say, did their brightness spring From sparkling wells, at Adulation's call? Did no obnoxious weed 'mid ruins cling To her vain woman's heart, nor pierce with thorny sting? LXXVII. Did not that heart miss from the masqued gay throng One princely form, with whose grace none could vie? In absent mood, did she ne'er glide along, Nor muse on one proud brow, one soft dark eye? Did she ne'er start, nor seek to hide the tear, When tutored homage to her charms was paid? And did not low, sweet tones steal to her ear, As from the lips of Him,22 whose head was laid In a dishonoured tomb, by force and treachery made? LXXVIII. Did she-though proudly conscious of her truth To England's Lord, her learned yet despised mate- To the joy-gaze of those whose hands his blood had dyed. LXXIX. Fair Queen! 'tis said that thou wert heartless, vainBut O! thy woman's heart was sorely crushed !— Could he (thy drivelling lord) affection gain? Were not the yearnings of thy spirit hushed? Didst thou not ride in Pleasure's reeling car, And seek to hide from all the blight within? With slackened reins the steeds bore thee afar, Yet, ere they reached the dark abyss of sin, Maddening thou curbed'st their race, nor headlong plunged within! LXXX. Light, scornful words are cast at thee-dead One! By such as may not dream thy secret grief : They, upon whom hath shone life's fairest sun, With souls ne'er twined by sorrow's withering leaf! Thy Lord-say, was he of thy choice? Still more, Thy children, were they of thy love? Ah, no! What blacker stream from Trouble's vase can pourWhat sharper pain can blighting anguish throw, Than those thy heart shrieked forth with each strong birth-pang throe? LXXXI. Didst thou not gaze upon each rosebud face, pressed, As wife and babe with anxious haste he'd seek, And strive to hide the sickness of thy breast : When woman's joy's most full, what woe thy heart oppressed! LXXXII. When Woman's curse convulsed thy tender frame, It was not borne for one, for whom thy heart Glowed with the faintest beam of Love's pure flame ; Poor Victim-slave, from a far regal mart! And oh in that sad, fearful, ordeal hour, When Nature's agony stamps Mother on The pale damp brow, with sign of anguished power, How longs the Sufferer to lean upon One loved and loving breast, sacred to her alone! LXXXIII. But this was not for thee!-a Mother-WifeWithout the magic that inshrines each name!The deep, sweet fountains of thy sex's lifeDomestic hope! were dashed by darker claimWere clogged by bruised Affection's twining root ;Crushed and uptorn-and wildly there it grew; Turned to a weed, whose dank leaves did pollute The soul's rich springs, and exhalations threw Which oft thy struggling mind in grief, perchance, might rue! LXXXIV. What clouds of doom are gathering in the west, What torturing sobs arise from earth's low breast! : From that which long-back years woke Echo's song! How different the rustic crowd so rudely move along! LXXXV. Now the wild Dirae lash their plunging steeds, Around. The fume of maddening vapour leads Intoxicated brains to the dread fall Wherein are crushed the nobler signs of mind !— And soft-eyed Innocence, pale, trembling, flies On hasty wing, to her bright nook beyond the skies! |