She rear'd her swimming eye, and saw the light,
And Guilford, too, or she had loath'd the sight.
Her father's death she bore, despised her own,
But now she must, she will, have leave to groan.
Ah! Guilford she began, and would have spoke, But sobs rush'd in, and every accent broke:
Reason itself, as gusts of passion blew,
Was ruffled in the tempest, and withdrew.
So the youth lost his image in the well,
When tears upon the yielding surface fell;
The scatter'd features slid into decay,
And spreading circles drove his face away.
To touch the soft affections, and control
The manly temper of the bravest soul,
What with afflicted beauty can compare,
And drops of love distilling from the fair?
It melts us down; our pains delight bestow,
And we with fondness languish o'er our woe.
This Guilford proved; and, with excess of pain,
And pleasure too, did to his bosom strain
The weeping fair: sunk deep in soft desire,
Indulged in love, and nursed the raging fire;
Then tore himself away; and, standing wide,
As fearing a relapse of fondness, cried,
With ill dissembled grief, ' My life! forbear;
You wound your Guilford with each cruel tear :
Did you not chide my grief? repress your own,
Nor want compassion for yourself alone.
Have you beheld how, from the distant main,
The thronging waves roll on, a numerous train,
And foam, and bellow, till they reach the shore,
There burst their noisy pride, and are no more?
Thus the successive flows of human race,
Chased by the coming, the preceeding chase;
They sound and swell, their haughty heads they rear, Then fall and flatten, break and disappear.
Life is a forfeit we must shortly pay,
And where's the mighty lucre of a day?
Why should you mourn my fate? 'tis most unkind,
Your own you bore with an unshaken mind:
And which, can you imagine, was the dart
That drank most blood, sunk deepest in my heart?
I cannot live without you; and my doom
I meet with joy, to share one common tomb.-
And are again your tears profusely spill'd?
Oh. then, my kindness blackens to my guilt!
It foils itself if it recal your pain
Life of my life! I beg you to refrain:
The load which Fate imposes you increase,
And help Maria to destroy my peace.'
But, oh against himself his labour turn'd;
The more he comforted the more she mourn'd.
Compassion swells our grief; words soft and kind
But sooth our weakness, and dissolve the mind.
Her sorrow flow'd in streams; nor hers alone;
While that he blamed, he yielded to his own.
Where are the smiles she wore when she, so late,
Hail'd him great partner of the regal state;
When orient gems around her temples blazed,
And bending nations on the glory gazed?
'Tis now the queen's command they both retreat 65 To weep with dignity, and mourn in state: She forms the decent misery with joy,
And loads with pomp the wretch she would destrcy.
A spacious hall is hung with black, all light
Shut out, and noon-day daiken'd into night :
From the mid-roof a lamp depends on high,
Like a dim crescent in a clouded sky;
It sheds a quivering, melancholy gloom,
Which only shows the darkness of the room.
A shining axe is on the table laid,
A dreadful sight! and glitters through the shade
In this sad scene the lovers are confined,
A scene of terrors to a guilty mind!
A scene that would have damp'd with rising cares,
And quite extinguish'd every love but theirs.
What can they do? they fix their mournful eyes— Then Guilford thus, abruptly: 'I despise
An empire lost; I fling away the crown;
Numbers have laid that bright delusion down;
But where's the Charles, or Dioclesian where,
Could quit the blooming, wedded, weeping fair?
Oh! to dwell ever on thy lip! to stand
In full possession of thy snowy hand!
And, through the' unclouded crystal of thy eye,
The heavenly treasures of thy mind to spy!
Till rapture reason happily destroys,
And my soul wanders through immortal joys!
Give me the world, and ask me, 'Where's my bliss?
I clasp thee to my breast, and answer This.
And shall the grave'-He groans, and can no more 95
But all her charms in silence traces o'er ;
Her lip, her cheek, and eye, to wonder wrought,
And wondering sees, in sad presaging thought,
From that fair neck, that world of beauty, fall,
And roll along the dust, a ghastly ball!
Oh! let those tremble who are greatly bless'd!
For who but Guilford could be thus distress'd?
Come hither, all you happy! all you great!
From flowery meadows, and from rooms of state;
Nor think I call your pleasures to destroy,
But to refine, and to exalt your joy :
Weep not; but, smiling, fix your ardent care
On nobler titles than the brave or fair.
Was ever räch a mournful, moving sight?
See, if you can, by that dim, trembling light:
Now they embrace; and, mix'd with bitter woe,
Like Isis and her Thames, one stream they flow:
Now they start wide; fix'd in benumbing care,
They stiffen into statues of despair:
Now tenderly severe and fiercely kind,
They rush at once; they fling their cares behind,
And clasp, as if to death; new vows repeat,
And quite wrapp'd up in love, forget their fate;
A short delusion; for the raging pain
Returns, and their poor hearts must bleed again. 120
Meantime, the queen new cruelty decreed;
But ill content that they should only bleed,
A priest is sent, who, with insidious art,
Instils his poison into Suffolk's heart,
And Guilford drank it: hanging on the breast,
He from his childhood was with Rome possess'd.
When now the ministers of Death draw nigh,
And in her dearest lord she first must die,
The subtle priest, who long had watch'd to find
The most unguarded passes of her mind,
Bespoke her thus: Grieve not; 'tis in your power
Your lord to rescue from this fatal hour.'
Her bosom pants; she draws her breath with pain ;
A sudden horror thrills through every vein;
Life seems suspended, on his words intent,
And her soul trembles for the great event.
The priest proceeds: Embrace the faith of Rome, And ward your own, your lord's, and father's doom.' Ye blessed spirits! now your charge sustain : The past was ease: now first she suffers pain. Must she pronounce her father's death? must she Bid Guilford bleed?-It must not, cannot be.
Above impossibilities to raise
It cannot be but 'tis the Christian's praise,
The weakness of our nature, and deride
Of vain philosophy the boasted pride.
What though our feeble sinews scarce impart
A moment's swiftness to the feather'd dart ;
Though tainted air our vigorous youth can break,
And a chill blast the hardy warrior shake?
Yet are we strong; hear the loud tempest roar
From east to west, and call us weak no more :
The lightning's unresisted force proclaims
Our might, and thunders raise our humble names
"Tis our Jehovah fills the heavens; as long As he shall reign Almighty, we are strong:
We, by devotion, borrow from his throne,
And almost make Omnipotence our own:
We force the gates of heaven by fervent prayer,
And call forth triumph out of man's despair.
Our lovely mourner, kneeling, lifts her eyes
And bleeding heart, in silence, to the skies,
Devoutly sad-then, brightening, like the day,
When sudden winds sweep scatter'd clouds away,
Shining in majesty, till now unknown,
And breathing life and spirit scarce her own,
She, rising, speaks; If these the terms-'
Here Guilford, cruel Guilford! (barbarous man!
Is this thy love?) as swift as lightning ran,
O'erwhelm'd her, with tempestuous sorrow fraught,
And stifled, in its birth, the mighty thought:
Then, bursting fresh into a flood of tears,
Fierce, resolute, delirious with his fears,
His fears for her alone, he beat his breast,
And thus the fervour of his soul express'd:
Oh! let thy thought o'er our past converse rove,
And show one moment uninflamed with love!
Oh! if thy kindness can no longer last,
In pity to thyself forget the past!
Else wilt thou never, void of shame and fear,
Pronounce his doom whom thou hast held so dear.
Thou, who hast took me to thy arms, and swore
Empires were vile, and Fate could give no more;
That to continue was its utmost power,
And make the future like the present hour :
Now call a ruffian, bid his cruel sword
Lay wide the bosom of thy worthless lord:
Transfix his heart (since you its love disclaim)
And stain his honour with a traitor's name.
This might perhaps be borne without remorse,
But sure a father's pangs will have their force '
Shall his good age, so near its journey's end,
Through cruel torment to the grave descend'
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