Hear, ye fair daughters of this happy land! Whose radiant eyes the vanquish'd world command, Virtue is beauty: but when charms of mind With elegance of outward form are joined ; When youth makes such bright objects still more bright,

And fortune sets them in the strongest light,
"Tis all of heaven that we below may view,
And all but adoration is your due.

Famed female virtue did this isle adorn
Ere Ormond, or her glorious queen, was born;
When now Maria's powerful arms prevailed,
And haughty Dudley's bold ambition failed,
The beauteous daughter of great Suffolk's race,
In blooming youth, adorned with every grace,
Who gained a crown by treason not her own,
And innocently filled another's throne,
Hurled from the summit of imperial state,
With equal mind sustained the stroke of fate.
But how will Guilford, her far dearer part,
With manly reason fortify his heart?
At once she longs, and is afraid to know;
Now swift she moves, and now advances slow,
To find her lord, and finding, passes by,
Silent with fear, nor dares she meet his eye,
Lest that, unasked, in speechless grief disclose
The mournful secret of his inward woes.
Thus, after sickness, doubtful of her face,
The melancholy virgin shuns the glass.

At length, with troubled thought, but look serene,
And sorrow softened by her heavenly mien,
She clasps her lord, brave, beautiful, and young,
While tender accents melt upon her tongue;
Gentle and swect, as vernal zephyr blows,
Fanning the lily, or the blooming rose.

"Grieve not, my lord; a crown, indeed, is lost;
What far outshines a crown we still may boast;
A mind composed, a mind that can disdain
A fruitless sorrow for a loss so vain.
Nothing is lost that virtue can improve
To wealth eternal, and return above;
Above where no distinction shall be known
'Twixt him whom storms have shaken from
throne,

And him who, basking in the smiles of Fate,
Shone forth in all the splendour of the great:
Nor can I find the difference here below;
I lately was a queen; I still am so,
While Guilford's wife, thee rather I obey,
Than o'er mankind extend imperial sway.
When we lie down on some obscure retreat,
Incensed Maria may her rage forget;
And I to death my duty will improve,
And what you miss in empire add in love.
Your godlike soul is opened in your look,
And I have faintly your great meaning spoke.
For this alone I'm pleased I wore the crown,
To find with what content we lay it down.

Heroes may win, but 'tis a heavenly race
Can quit a throne with a becoming grace."

Thus spoke the fairest of her sex, and cheered
Her drooping lord, whose boding bosom feared
A darker cloud of ills would burst, and shed
Severer vengeance on her guiltless head.
Too just, alas, the terrors which he felt!
For, lo! a guard!-forgive him if he melt-
How sharp her pangs, when severed from his side,
The most sincerely loved, and loving bride
In space confined, the muse forbears to tell ;
Deep was her anguish, but she bore it well:
His pain was equal, but his virtue less;
He thought in grief there could be no excess.
Pensive he sat, o'ercast with gloomy care,
And often fondly clasped his absent fair;
Now, silent, wandered through his rooms of state,
And sickened at their pomp, and taxed his fate,
Which thus adorned, in all her shining store,
A splendid wretch, magnificently poor.
And on the bridal bed his eyes were cast,
And anguish fed on his enjoyments past;
Each recollected pleasure made him smart,
And every transport stabbed him to the heart.

That happy moon which summoned to delight,
That moon which shone on his dear nuptial night,
Which saw him fold her yet untasted charms
(Denied to princes) in his longing arms,
Now sees the transient blessing fleet away,
Empire of love! the vision of a day.

Thus in the British clime, a summer-storm
Will oft the smiling face of heaven deform;
The winds with violence at once descend,
Sweep flowers and fruits, and make the forest bend
A sudden winter, while the sun is near,
O'ercomes the season, and inverts the year.

But whither is the captive borne away,
The beauteous captive! from the cheerful day?
The scene is changed indeed: before her eyes
Ill-boding locks and unknown horrors rise;
For pomp and splendour, for her guard and crown,
A gloomy dungeon, and a keeper's frown:

a Black thoughts each morn invade the lover's breast;
Each night a ruffian locks the queen to rest.

Ah, mournful change, if judged by vulgar minds!
But Suffolk's daughter its advantage finds
Religion's force divine is best displayed

In deep desertion of all human aid:
To succour in extremes is her delight,
And cheer the heart when terror strikes the sign
We, disbelieving our own senses, gaze,
And wonder what a mortal's heart can raise
To triumph o'er misfortunes, smile in grief,
And comfort those who come to bring relief:
We gaze, and, as we gaze, wealth, fame, decay,
And all the world's vain glories fade away.
Against her cares she raised a dauntless mina,
And with an ardent heart, but most resigned,

Deep in the dreadful gloom, with pious heat,
Amid the silence of her dark retreat,
Addressed her God-" Almighty Power Divine!
'Tis thine to raise, and to depress is thine;
With honour to light up the name unknown,
Or to put out the lustre of a throne.

In my short span both fortunes I have proved,
And though with ill frail nature will be moved,
I'll bear it well: (0 strengthen me to bear!)
And if my piety may claim thy care,
If I remembered, in youth's giddy heat,
And tumult of a court, a future state,
O favour, when thy mercy I implore,
For one who never guilty sceptre bore!
"Twas I received the crown; my lord is free;
If it must fall, let vengeance fall on me;
Let him survive, his country's name to raise,
And in a guilty land to speak thy praise!
O may th' indulgence of a father's love,
Poured forth on me, be doubled from above!
If these are safe, I'll think my prayers succeed,
And bless thy tender mercies whilst I bleed."

'Twas now the mournful eve before that day
In which the queen to her full wrath gave way;
Through rigid justice rushed into offence,
And drank, in zeal, the blood of innocence.
The sun went down in clouds, and seemed

mourn

The sad necessity of his return;
The hollow wind, and melancholy rain,
Or did, or was imagined to complain:
The tapers cast an inauspicious light;
Stars there were none, and doubly dark the night.

Sweet Innocence in chains can take her rest;
Soft slumber gently creeping through her breast,
She sinks; and in her sleep is re-enthroned,
Mocked by a gaudy dream, and vainly crowned.
She views her fleets and armies, seas and land,
And stretches wide her shadow of command:
With royal purple is her vision hung;

Sun! hide thy beams; in clouds as black as night
Thy face involve; be guiltless of the sight;
Or haste more swiftly to the western main,
Nor let her blood the conscious daylight stain.

Oh! how severe ! to fall so new a bride,
Yet blushing from the priest, in youthful pride;
When Time had just matured each perfect grace,
And opened all the wonders of her face!
To leave her Guilford dead to all relief,
Fond of his wo, and obstinate in grief.
Unhappy fair! whatever Fancy drew,
(Vain promised blessings) vanish from her view;
No train of cheerful days, endearing nights,
No sweet domestic joys, and chaste delights;
Pleasures that blossom e'en from doubts and fears,
And bliss and rapture rising out of cares:
No little Guilford, with paternal grace,
Lulled on her knee, or smiling in her face;
Who, when her dearest father shall return,
From pouring tears on her untimely urn,
Might comfort to his silver hairs impart,
And fill her place in his indulgent heart;
As where fruits fall, quick-rising blossoms smile,
And the blessed Indian of his cares beguile.

In vain these various reasons jointly press
To blacken death, and heighten her distress;
to She, through the' encircling terrors darts her sight
To the blessed regions of eternal light,

By phantom hosts are shouts of conquest rung;
Low at her feet the suppliant rival lies;
Our prisoner mourns her fate, and bids her rise.
Now level beams upon the waters played,
Glanced on the hills, and westward cast the shade;
The busy trades in city had began

To sound, and speak the painful life of man.
In tyrant's breasts the thoughts of vengeance rouse,
And the fond bridegroom turns him to his spouse.
A:: his first birth of light, while morning breaks,
Our spouseless bride, our widowed wife, awakes;
Awakes and smiles; nor night's imposture blames:
Her real pomps were little more than dreams;
A short-lived blaze, a lightning quickly o'er,
T'hat died in birth, that shone and was no more;
She turns her side and soon resumes a state
Of mind well suited to her altered fate,
Berere, though serious, when dread tidings come
Ah wretched Guilford!) of her instant doom.

And fills her soul with peace: to weeping friends
Her father and her lord she recommends,
Unmoved herself: her foes her air survey,
And rage to see their malice thrown away.
She soars; now nought on earth detains her care-
But Guilford, who still struggles for his share.
Still will his form importunately rise,
Clog and retard her transport to the skies.
As trembling flames now take a feeble flight,
Now catch the brand with a returning light,
Thus her soul onward, from the seats above
Falls fondly back, and kindles into love.
At length she conquers in the doubtful field;
That heaven she seeks will be her Guilford's
shield.

Now death is welcome: his approach is slow;
'Tis tedious longer to expect the blow.

Oh, mortals! short of sight, who think the
past,

O'erblown misfortune still shall prove the last:
Alas! misfortunes travel in a train,
And oft in life from one perpetual chain:
Fear buries fear, and ills on ills attend,
Till life and sorrow meet one common end.

She thinks that she has nought but death to fear,
And death is conquered. Worse than death is

near:

Her rigid trials are not yet complete;
The news arrives of her great father's fate.
She sees his hoary head, all white with age,
A victim to the offended monarc 's rage,