The scene was changed. Beside the block a sullen headsman stood, And gleamed the broad axe in his hand that soon must drip with blood. With slow and steady step there came a lady through the hall, And breathless silence chained the lips, and touched the hearts of all; Rich were the sable robes she wore-her white veil round her fell And from her neck there hung the cross- -that cross she loved so well! I knew that queenly form again, though blighted was its bloom, I saw that grief had decked it out-an offering for the tomb! I knew the eye, though faint its light, that once so brightly shone, I knew the voice, though feeble now, that thrilled with every tone, I knew the ringlets, almost grey, once threads of living gold, I knew that bounding grace of step-that symmetry of mould! Even now I see her far away, in that calm convent aisle, I hear her chant her vesper-hymn, I mark her holy smile, Even now I see her bursting forth, upon her bridal morn, A new star in the firmament, to light and glory born! Alas! the change! she placed her foot upon a triple throne, And on the scaffold now she stands-beside the block, alone! The little dog that licks her hand, the last of all the crowd Who sunned themselves beneath her glance, and round her footsteps bowed! Her neck is bared-the blow is struck-the soul has passed away; The bright-the beautiful—is now a bleeding piece of clay! The dog is moaning piteously, and as it gurgles o'er, Laps the warm blood that trickling runs unheeded to the floor! The blood of beauty, wealth, and power-the heart-blood of a queen, The noblest of the Stuart race-the fairest earth has seen, Lapped by a dog! Go think of it, in silence and alone, Then weigh against a grain of sand the glories of a throne ! H. G. B. Edinburgh, 1828. INVOCATION TO THE ECHO OF A SEA-SHELL. BY ALARIC A. WATTS. Murmurings from within Were heard, sonorous cadences; whereby WORDSWORTH. I. VOICE of the deep, illimitable sea! Discarded offspring of the wind and wave! Who, like a captive struggling to be free, Thus ever moan'st in thy mysterious cave,— Art thou a syren, by some sea-god's spell Prisoned in this smooth shell? Called up to earth by some enchanter's wand ?— Whose was the charm that broke thy long, cold sleep, And brought thee, murmuring, from thy parent sand? How wert thou ushered to the realms of day, Syren, or Spirit, say? III. Yet more I would know more! I burn to pierce The hidden secrets of thy ocean home: Where are the victims of its surges fierce, Who dreamt of calms, and wakened 'mid its foam;The souls that perished 'neath the stormy wave, When none were nigh to save? IV. Where are the stately ship, and gallant crew, The love-linked pair whom death could not divide; (For thou hast seen them in their last embrace, Calm, sleeping face to face?) V. Fond hearts and true-the beautiful and brave,- Foemen and friends, sink down to one wide grave, Speak, I conjure thee, speak! VI. How dost thou answer?—With a low, sweet dirge Sad as the booming of the sullen main,— The far-off warnings of the restless surge, When storms are growing into strength again! Perchance a requiem for the glorious dead, Youth, beauty, valour fled. VII. Whate'er thy source and purpose, I rejoice To list thy mystic murmurings, soft and clear: To me thou seemest like a still, small voice, By conscience whispered in my world-vexed ear, To lead my soul from grovelling things of earth, To hopes of loftier birth! [This little Poem was intended by its author as an imitation of the manner of Mrs. Hemans]. |