Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2015 https://archive.org/details/marytudorhistoriOOdeve MARY TUDOR AN HISTORICAL DRAMA THE LAMENTATION OF IRELAND AND OTHER POEMS BY SIR AUBREY DE VERE Bart. BOSTON COLLEGE LIBRAHf ® II eBDM 3T(W lL > MASSa WILLIAM PICKERING 1847 TO THE LORD MONTEAGLE OF BRANDON ^tS (Holume is tRUicateS, ACCORDING TO THE INTENTION OF THE AUTHOR, AND IN MEMORY OF A LOVE TRULY FRATERNAL, AND LASTING TO THE END. CONTENTS. Page M ARY TUDOR, Part the First .... 1 Part the Second . . . . 145 The Lamentation of Ireland 333 To my beloved Wife on her becoming of Age . . 345 Fragment — “ See from its ambush yon fair infant peeping’’ 347 A Walk by the Shore at Ilfracomb .... 347 Lines written after my Inspection of Lundy Island . 349 Fragment written at Southhill Park .... 351 Sunset on the Lower Shannon 353 Song, “ The light of love can never” .... 354 Busaco. A Battle-sketch 354 Fragment. — “ How sweet that little lawn amid the woods” 359 The Assignation 359 True Love 361 The benumbed Butterfly . 362 Epitaph on Sir John Moore 365 The Widow 366 The Flight of Napoleon 367 To a Friend requesting me to write a Poem on a great Victory 368 Lines on the Death of the Hon. William Cecil Pery, killed at the Storming of St. Sebastian . . . 369 Ode to the Duchess of Angouleme 371 On the Death of Sir Thomas Picton, slain at W aterloo 378 Ode to the Eagle Standard 380 VI CONTENTS. Epitaph for Colonel Rickard Lloyd. Passage of the Nive) (Killed at the • • • • Page 385 The Anniversary of Waterloo . . 386 ToM— 390 “ In the fulness of time I shall lie in the earth,” 391 The Sorrows of Peace. Fragment • • • 392 Fragment. Degeneracy of National Character 393 To my Country 395 A Poet’s Home 397 Petrarca. Canzone III . • • • 399 Stanzas from Menzini. By a Lady • • • 403 Translation of an Inscription from ment at Rome a mural Monu- 404 From the French of Madame de Murat 404 Philosophic Love. (From Rossi) • • • 405 From the Italian .... • • • 405 Cato in Utica. (From Luigi Alamanni) 406 Repentance. Madrigal of Michelagnolo Buonarotti 406 The March of Xerxes. Epigram of Luigi Alamann 1556 i, 407 The Glen of Glangoole • • • 407 Stanzas on Solitude .... 410 Pastoral Song 411 Ode to April . 413 The Dreams of Youth 417 A Dream. Fragment . . . 431 Lines. “ Sorrow to him who with a tearless eye” 433 Verses for Music • • • 435 Maidenly Sorrow. Canzonet . • 436 Lucretia. (From the Latin) . . . . 437 The Course of Time .... • • • 437 Madrigal 438 From Meleager 438 From Antipater • • • 439 On Anacreon. From Antipater . • • 439 From Theocritus. .... 440 CONTENTS. Vll Page A Song of Spring. Addressed to a Child . . . 440 Stanzas 445 The Lot of All 446 Fragments. 1845 — 6 448 “ There is no danger, Friends, unless we fear” . . 448 “ Restrict me not in friendship &c.” .... 448 Times past 449 The Bride 450 A Homestead 450 Character of Queen Elizabeth 451 “ To live alone ” 452 “ Men of large intellects have minds like wells,” . 452 “ Life hath no conditions” 453 “ Life streams down to us, a mysterious river” . 453 Nor cheat yourself, nor hire a world &c.” . . 454 “ Oh rather after grief let us rejoice ” .... 454 Union in Absence 454 “ Be sure this earthly love which dwells within us” . 455 “ Divine love hath its growth within the heart” . 455 “ An if I be a worm, mine office is ” . . . 456 “ The dove-like spirit of peace &c.” .... 456 MARY TUDOR. DRAMATIS PERSONAE. King Edward VI. John Dudley, Duke or Northumberland ; father of Lord Guilford Dudley . Henry Grey, Duke of Suffolk ; father of Lady Edward Courtenaye, Marquess of Exeter ; cousin of the Kiny and Princesses. Marquess of Winchester ; Lord Treasurer. Cranmer ; Archbishop of Canterbury. Earls of Pembroke and of Arundel. Lord Guilford Dudley ; husband of Jane Grey. Bishops Gardiner, Bonner, Tonstal; Roman Catholic deprived Prelates. Sir Thomas Wyatt Fakenham, Dean of St. Paul's, her Confessor. Sir John Palmer, a friend of Northumberland. Other Lords , Citizens , <§rc. A Headsman , Soldiers, Sfc. Mary Tudor, sister of the King, afterwards Queen. Elizabeth, second sister of the King . Lady Jane Grey, usurping Queen. Duchess of Suffolk, mother of Jane Grey. Jane Grey. Captain Brett Sir Henry Bedingfield Sir Henry Jerningham I* Mary Tudor' s O ffi< cers. MARY TUDOR. PART THE FIRST. ACT I. Scene I. A Street in London, Enter Pembroke, Arundel, Wyatt, Jerning- HAM, BEDINGFIELD. BEDINGFIELD. B E well assured the King is sick to death. PEMBROKE. Tush, Sir, the King is young, and young blood fires Like flax. BEDINGFIELD. And dies as quickly. I repeat it. Even now the King lies at the point of death. WYATT. How can it be? But one short month it seems Since I beheld him on his jennet's back, B 2 MARY TUDOR. [ACT I. With hawk on wrist, his bounding hounds beside. Charge up the hill side through the golden gorse, Swallowing the west wind, till his cheeks glowed out Like ripened pears. The whirring pheasant sprang From the hedged bank; and, with a shout, in air The bright boy tossed his falcon ; then with spur Pressed to his jennet’s flank, and head thrown back, And all the spirit of life within his eye And voice, he drew not rein, till the spent quarry Lay cowering ’neath the hawk’s expanded wings. ARUNDEL. And what saith Sir John Cheke, his Grace’s tutor? That one so apt to learn, mature in judgment, Ne’er hath o’erleaped the silken fence of child- hood. WYATT. Too hotly from the deep well of his heart Boils up his fevered blood. BEDINGF1ELD. You miss the mark! No fever pants upon King Edward’s life ; Nor natural decay hath drained his heart. PEMBROKE. Then, by the Rood ! John Dudley must be questioned SC. I.J MARY TUDOR. 3 Wherefore he mews the King up thus at Green- wich, With beldams, herberers, and wizard quacks? BEDINGFIELD. Too late ! the axe, henceforth, shall answer make To dangerous questioners. WYATT. He flies too high This modern Dedalus ! ARUNDEL. O royal seed Of York and Lancaster, in Tudor blended. How are ye fallen, when this base minion churl, This felon-born, dares lift his ransomed hand Against your sacred house — misrules your people — ■ Usurps your sceptre — decimates your peers — Nay, holds the throne in his arbitrement ! BEDINGFIELD. Aye — there you press the spring of his design. No child of the eighth Harry shall be Queen If Dudley’s will be law. ARUNDEL. Pernicious Traitor ! Much hath he dared ! but with plebeian hand Dares he to clutch that crown the Norman rent MARY TUDOR. 4 [ACT I. From Harold’s helm — and lion-hearted Richard Bore through the fields of Palestine redeemed. At Ascalon, in the Crusaders’ van? O spirits of our old nobility ! Rise from your tombs and blast this upstart carle ! Mowbray is gone ; but Thomas Howard lives ! The suns of Bohun and de Clare have set; But Oxford’s star beams brightly from his shield ! Nevilles there be, though Warwick’s veins are cold ! Aw'ake avengers ! Bearders of kings arise ! And crush the caitiff! BEDINGFIELD. One and all we join That cry, O Arundel! Well I remember When from the midst of English Gentlemen Great Somerset, the Uncle of the King, Was, like some stag, the captain of the herd, Torn down and throttled by this blood-hound Dudley ! How flashed your eyes above your half-drawn sword. While muttered malisons hissed through your teeth ! WYATT. Sirs, be ye calm, probing the kingdom’s hurt. SC. I.] MARY TUDOR. 5 She whom this Dudley wills to wear the crown Descends, through Tudor, from Plantagenet: And the two Roses on so fair a cheek As Lady Jane’s, the Duke of Suffolk’s daughter. Have never blended. ARUNDEL. The Duchess’ mother lives — PEMBROKE. Nor she — nor any daughter of her house — Not my son’s wife, shall ever be my Queen ! WYATT. Beshrew King Harry ! had he loved one wife — Or crowned no concubine — our course were plain. But now — In sooth I trow not if to marry One’s brother s wife, be uncanonical, But this I know, howe’er legitimate. The Lady Mary’s neither young nor fair. But black Papistical. The Lady Bess Loves the true Church, and is as fair withal As her frail mother Boleyn. BEDINGFIELD. There’s the rub. Too sweetly Boleyn smiled on Harry’s wooing Ere he was severed by sufficient warrant From the crowned Queen. But six short months divided 6 MARY TUDOR. [ACT f. 4 The bridal and the birth. Elizabeth May not be hailed legitimately Queen : But who shall gainsay Mary ? WYATT. That dare I ? Unless the sacred charter of our church Be well assured. If not, the Suffolk line, The blood of Grey, aye, Dudley’s, I prefer. JERNINGHAM. Sir Thomas Wyatt, you presume too far; Disparaging the royal Mary’s claim — Which I aver — ARUNDEL. O peace ! the time needs union. Waste not in idle brawls your generous ardour. But lift your swords, and swear, kissing the hilts, Tli at England shall not be a Traitor’s prey — Nor Tudor’s heritage adorn a Grey ! [Exeunt. Scene II. Greenwich — the King's Bedchamber. \ King Edward on a Couch: Lady Jane reading. JANE. How fares your Highness now P SC. II.] MARY TUDOR. 7 * EDWARD. Thy sweet voice, Jane, Soothes every pain. A film grew o’er mine eyes ; A murmur, as of breezes on the shore, Or waters lapping in some gelid cave, Coiled round my temples ; and I slept. JANE. Ah cousin ! Not in my voice the charm. Within this volume » A sanatory virtue lives enshrined. As in Bethesda’s pool. EDWARD. By an angel stirred ! I slept — methought the merry, chiming birds Were round me, and the bleating of the lambs. And cheerful harmony of hounds and horn. And murmuring winds, and waters among trees, Making the diapason of our Earth ; While by my side dear Uncle Somerset Rode, stately with grave smile. Where is he now ? Ah, fatal falsehoods ! fatal credulity ! Look at this hand ! health withered in its veins Signing the unnatural warrant. JANE. Judge less hardly. You were the instrument, but not the doer. 8 MARY TUDOR. [ACT 1. In that bad deed. EDWARD. I am too young — too young For sorrow and remorse; yet both are here! I yearn for freedom, like some callow scholar Over his task perplexed ; and it will come. Soon shall I leap forth like the lark at mom Into the pathless sky — and through the gates Of light, on— on — to heaven ! Hark ! some noise. Who thus disturbs the last rest of a King ? Enter Northumberland and Cranmer. NORTHUMBERLAND. We come, my liege, deputed by the Council, To lay before your Grace the realm’s sad state Thus widowed of your presence; and abashed By the frowns of coming wrong. Am I permitted? EDWARD. Permitted ? ah my Lord, custom permits — You seldom tread the paths of ceremony. Say on — my soul is sad, but I will hear you. NORTHUMBERLAND. My Lord Archbishop will explain how far Zeal strengthens us to stem the tide of evils Which, should it please high heaven to take your Grace, 9 SC. II.] MARY TUDOR. Your death would loose upon us. CRANMER. May I speak ? We pray you judge, should harm befall your Grace, The dangers of the Church ; no pious Prince, Versed in true doctrine of our Faith, succeeding. How ill the Lady Mary stands affected Unto the Church is known. Elizabeth Gives, perad venture, better hope ; but here Their claims make up a tissue so perplexed The undoing of the woof destroys the web. We must eschew both, or hold fast to both. And thus by right of primogeniture The Lady Mary at our peril succeed. NORTHUMBERLAND. Mark well ! to England's and the Church's ruin ! CRANMER. Now well we know, a wise Prince and religious, God’s glory and his kingdom's weal endangered, Will put aside all weak respects of blood — NORTHUMBERLAND. Else would God's vengeance mete out doom hereafter ! CRANMER. But other hope remains. Three noble daughters 10 MARY TUDOR. [act I. Ol' Suffolk’s bed are of the royal lineage: Most near, and by their virtues well commended. Through these — JANE. Nay ! I must speak. My Lord Archbishop, I must protest — NORTHUMBERLAND. Be silent : the church speaks ! CRANMER. Through these nor persecutor of our faith, Nor foreign yoke, through marriage may be feared : For these have been brought up with spiritual food ; Suckled with Christian doctrine undefiled ; And matched with husbands zealous for the truth. That these, firm pledged the true Church to maintain, Should be successively the kingdom’s heirs Most humbly we advise : and for this Lady, Eldest of that illustrious house, Jane Grey, If all her virtues, which speak trumpet-tongued, Suffice not, we, her father, all the Council, The Peers of England, yea the Realm itself, Impledge our lives to back her constancy ! JANE. O no ! not me ! This remediless wrong SC. II.] MARY TUDOR. 11 I have no part in. Edward — you have sisters: Great Harry’s daughter’s — England’s manifest heirs. Leave right its way, and God will guard His own ! NORTHUMBERLAND. The manifest heirs of England ! tush ! you see not The very point at issue. Counsellors Learned in the laws, hold the king’s heir to be Whom the king’s testament shall nominate. Besides, the child of the incestuous Katherine May not be Queen : nor wanton Boleyn’s daughter. CRANMER. Too harshly spoken! Hold him up! he faints — So — he revives — Sir, look upon this Lady, This Angel that shall win a crown in heaven. Worthier than all of Earth ! King Edward ! hear me ! Uphold your people in her ! EDWARD. God be my guide ! Now and forever ! Sense and thought forsake me. O sisters ! ye desert me ! yet I love ye — How much I love ! NORTHUMBERLAND. They come not at your bidding. 12 MARY TUDOR. [act I. Your People be your care. EDWARD. Ah yes — my People! To them, and to my God — be duty done! NORTHUMBERLAND. Sign then — JANE. Sign not ! Edward [signing"]. Come weal, come woe — ’tis signed ! Now take me, Lord, from this calamitous life ! Yet if to live and suffer be thy will, And to thy chosen People serviceable, I am contented to abide, and serve. i t Enter from the side , the Princess Mary, followed by Bedingfield, Jerningham «w^Fakenham. At last — and y T et too late — I bless thee, sister ! Why comes not Bess ? bedingfield. She lay, my Liege, too far From Framlingliam, and time, so rumour ran, Pressed hardly on your Grace. mary [kissing Edward ]. How wan ! how wasted ! My dear, lost brother ! [. Northumberland attempts to pass out. SC. II.] MARY TUDOR. 13 BEDINGFIELD. t Go not forth, my Lord, While here her Highness stays. NORTHUMBERLAND. How, Varlet, how ? Who shall debar my way ? BEDINGFIELD. I will — » JERNINGHAM. And I. EDWARD. What means this timeless brawl P Northumber- land, I deemed my sister’s visit due to thee: Whence then this heat P I am too weak to bear it. MARY. My Lord of Lisle ! or — pardon me — Lord Duke ! (To such a height your style hath grown, I learn) Your message came — and I am here! but not Without precaution that secures return. NORTHUMBERLAND. Madam, you err : know your friends better. MARY. Yes. I know them at their worth. NORTHUMBERLAND. Lady, you mark not 14 MARY TUDOR. [ACT I. His Grace’s weak estate. I seek no brawl — And fear no foe. MARY. God’s death ! my Lord, nor I ! I bid you silence. Sir. NORTHUMBERLAND. What? menace me? BEDINGFIELD. Beware this sword — if you advance, it strikes ! JANE. 0 peace, good father, peace ! the King sinks fast. MARY. Perils beset me — scorning all I come : Shall I abide with thee ? EDWARD. This gentle Jane o Hath been a sister in my sister’s absence. MARY. Why was I bade to go ? He bade me fly, — Ah Traitor 1 [ pointing to Northumberland . EDW r ARD. It is now too late — too late ! 1 have done what it were well had ne’er been done. JANE. O would to God that act might be recalled ! MARY. What act ? SC. II.] MARY TUDOR. 15 JANE. That makes me Queen. MARY. Thou Queen ! O never Shall regal crown clasp that unwrinklecl brow ! Thou Queen ? go, girl — betake thee to thy mappets ! Call Ascham back — philosophize — but never Presume to parley with grey counsellors. Nor ride forth in the front of harnessed knights ! Leave that to me, the daughter of a King. EDWARD. I have wronged thee to save the state from wrong. I had much to say ; but faltering thought and tongue Forbid. Never shall foreign Prince or Prelate Bear sway in England. So my father willed. Cranmer, speak thou. NORTHUMBERLAND. Nay, I speak now. The King Still, madam, proffers hope, on penitence. The crown may yet be your’s — this act annulled ; If here before this dying Saint, in presence Of this most holy Prelate, and this Lady Wise past her years, your errors you renounce. 1 G MARY TUDOR. [ACT I. MARY. Sir, have you done? simply I thus reply. Not to drag England from this slough of treason — Nor save this lady’s head — nor your’s. Arch- bishop ; — Not even my brother’s life — would I abjure My faith, and forfeit heaven ! CRANMER. Pause, proud Lady ! The end hath come. Lo ! one among us stands Chainer of every tongue ! queller of Princes ! One moment more, and penitence were vain. [All kneel by the Kings couch. EDWARD. Lord ! keep thy People steadfast in the Faith ! I die — bless all — Jesus receive my soul. [Dies. CRANMER. He’s dead ! — and never passed a purer spirit. Stored with more graces of humanity. More fraught with truths divine, than this lost King. For he was grave, as well beseemed a King, Though joyous in his spirit as a child. Of wit so keen, that all expectancy Of nature was outstripped : and thus he dies Consumed in his own brightness. Had he lived SC. II.] MARY TUDOR. 17 The sweet conditions of ingenuous nature Had won all good men’s love, as they have long The hope of all the learned : for he began To favour learning ere he knew it fully ; And knew, ere time remained to use it well. Too soon he dies ! yet not without memorials That shall be storied long and treasured fondly. He lacked but time to leave the world example Of all a King, so trained and graced, might be ! MARY. And thou art gone ! hast left me unforgiven ! — O brother! was this righteous? gloomier now This dreary world frowns on me, and its cares. Womanly dreams, farewell ! stern truths of life Stamp on my heart all that becomes a Queen ! Dudley, you have dared much ; yet, standing here By my poor brother’s clay, I can forgive. Will you kneel, Dudley ? NORTHUMBERLAND. Never to thee — but here — To Jane, true Queen I kneel. God save Queen Jane! BEDINGFIELD. Ha ! traitor ! MARY. Sheath your swords ! here, in Death’s chamber, c 18 MARY TUDOR. [act I. Blood must not flow. NORTHUMBERLAND. No traitor I. I spurn Your favour, even with these odds — away ! Keep from my path, Fakenham and Bedingfield, Or by my surging hopes I strike you dead ! Ho ! Guards, without! Guilford ! your wife to rescue ! MARY. Again I say — here shed no blood for me ! JERNINGHAM. I hear thick beating footsteps on the stair — My liege, *tis time to fly. NORTHUMBERLAND. I stay you not — Begone ! [ Exit Mary attended. FAKENHAM. We meet hereafter ! NORTHUMBERLAND. Out, vile worm ! No deed of mine mates me with thee hereafter. FAKENHAM. I spake not of that judgement. We shall meet In this world — by the scaffold — at the grave. f Exit. SC. II.] MARY TUDOR. 19 Enter Lord Guilford Dudley, Pembroke, Guards. GUILFORD. What means this tumult — thy distracted bearing? NORTHUMBERLAND. The king is dead. GUILFORD. By you? NORTHUMBERLAND. He died by nature. The Queen hath scaped. GUILFORD. The Queen ! my Jane is Queen. What mean you ? NORTHUMBERLAND. Tush — the tongue misquotes the mind. I spake of Mary Tudor. GUILFORD. Mary — here P NORTHUMBERLAND. Aye — Traitors are within these gates : look round. I like not Pembroke’s mien — nor Winchester’s. I am glad she stayed not here. Urge no pursuit. The eighth Harry’s soul lives in her voice and eye. It were not well if she had stayed — and lived. [He muses for a time . 20 MARY TUDOR. [ACT I. [diside.] We lack but time — time satisfies all scruples — Silence in treason is complicity : — Whoso connives conspires. \_Aloud~\ You know, my Lords, The late King’s testament. It pleased the Council. Pembroke, your son stands on the throne’s first step. PEMBROKE. Which yours doth mount. NORTHUMBERLAND. Holding it safe for your’s. We’ll talk of this hereafter: now our cares Attend the late king’s obsequies. My Lord Of Winchester, be pleased to marshal forth The sad procession to the Tower. Within The chapel lay the body, near the altar ; Light tapers, and let solemn psalms be sung. Guilford, attend the Queen. Pembroke, we’ll talk Of these things privily. Herbert already, As next of blood, is Captain of the guard : Suffolk Lord Constable: you — dear friend! choose. What Pembroke asks can grateful Jane refuse P [ Exeunt severally. SC. III.] MARY TUDOR. 21 Scene III. Chamber in the Tower . Enter Northumberland. NORTHUMBERLAND. These branching passages, and tortuous stairs, And dark, low chambers (ghostly dens) con- found me. Methought the way to Court enaye’s cell was plain. I have missed the clue : Pll rest me here awhile. The Race of Dudley mounts — Had Jane no scruples — Were Guilford wise as he is plausible, Then were this new-cemented fabric firm. And founded for endurance. Not so now. Yet ’twas a glorious sight! Jane crowned and plumed. On her proud palfrey — my fair son beside her— Scarce less even now than King — England’s broad banner Flouting the wind before — a goodly sight ! But something lacked there : and that something grows Ghost-like on questioning thought. From that great host 99 MARY TUDOR. [ACT I. No greeting rose. Base hirelings only cheered. The pageant drew the people, brought no hearts. Therefore I seek young Courtenaye’s cell ; last heir Of the Plantagenets and line of York. He owes no grudge to me. Harry the Eighth Loved not so fair a kinsman near the throne ; So slew his father, stout King Edward's grand- son. With Courtenaye then make I compact alliance. The man is fair, nor overwise ; and rumour Whispers that Mary Tudor likes him well. If Fortune fail, this princely fool my friend — A woman for my foe — What light is that ? [. Pushes a door open : finds a Headsman sharp- ening his axe. HEADSMAN. Plague on you- — you disturb my trade. NORTHUMBERLAND. How now P HEADSMAN. God save you, good my Lord. I knew you not. NORTHUMBERLAND. Why look you on my throat so fixedly? HEADSMAN. Pardon, my Lord, it is a trick grew on me SC. III.] MARY TUDOR. *23 Long- years agone : it came when I cut off — NORTHUMBERLAND. What came, what came ? HEADSMAN. Ah Sir ! you’ll not believe me. ’Twas but a double dealing of the eye. Feigning a red line round a shapely throat. I saw Anne Boleyn thus when she was crowned — And she was done to death — was it not strange? So Katherine Howard seemed at her last feast — And she was done to death — and by this hand. So seemed, when stanclingby his nephew’s throne, The great Protector Somerset — and he— NORTHUMBERLAND. No more of this. I seek Lord Devon’s cell. HEADSMAN. This way, my Lord. NORTHUMBERLAND. Portents and warnings mock us — Away ! light omens shake not this firm heart. [Exeunt. Scene IY. Exeter’s Cell in the Tower. EXETER. Steps — not my warders — hearken — two are coining, * MARY TUDOR. 24 [act I. What next befalls? all clay strange sounds were rife ; Trumpets and ordnance. What’s to me who reigns Or dies, or marries ? all the sorry chances Of courtly life ! mayhap a King is murdered : *Tis probable — the commonest accident ! Or Queen beheaded : well, if none but Queens, I might not quarrel with the royal pastime. Enter Northumberland and Headsman. Ha ! I should know that face ; and lackeyed thus By yon grim doomster, guess my coming fate. NORTHUMBERLAND. I greet you well, Lord Marquess Exeter ! Noble Plantagenet ! EXETER. Hey ! what means this? The half-forgotten name — and fatal heritage ! Sir John of Dudley — bear and ragged staff’! — Or memory fails me. NORTHUMBERLAND. Now, Northumberland. EXETER. Indeed? excuse me: prisoners limp behind The vaulting world. You are welcome. NORTHUMBERLAND. I would greet you SC. IV.] MARY TUDOR. 25 With tidings of content. EXETER. Long strangers here ! NORTHUMBERLAND. I take your hand : nor coldly, thus, hereafter Will you, perchance, vouchsafe it. I have power ; (In Edward’s time I only had the will) To serve you. EXETER. Ha! how well I guessed the truth ! One King the more is dead ! who now rules Eng- land ! Chaste Boleyn’s babe — or the Arragonian whelp? No beauty I’ll be sworn, unless Time makes one. NORTHUMBERLAND. The House of Grey is of the royal lineage. To that King Edward’s will bequeaths the crown. EXETER. My lady Duchess Queen? — Now God forbid ! NORTHUMBERLAND. All cry amen to that — Her Grace of Suffolk Yields to her wiser daughter — Lady Jane — My son, Lord Guilford’s wife ; now Queen of England. EXETER. O now I do begin to read the stars. And note what constellation climbs. My Lord, 2G MARY TUDOR. [ACT I. Excuse the stiffness of imprisoned knees. The obsolete posterity of Kings, Lowly should bend to Kings* Progenitors. Sir Headsman ! art thou married 3 HEADSMAN. Nay, my Lord. EXETER. Get thee a wife then, in good baste : get sons ! Full-bosomed honour, like a plant in the sun, Plays harlot to the hour. Lo ! thistles burgeon Even through the red Rose’ cradle ! NORTHUMBERLAND. My good Lord, Unseasonable wit hath a warped edge. Whereby the unskilful take unlooked for scars. Good night — may fancy tickle you in dreams. In which nor Boleyn’s babe (I quote your phrase) Nor whelp of Arragon — kind Heaven forfend ! Nor our grim friend here, with uncivil axe, Dare mingle. Good night, Courtenaye ! EXETER. Stay, Sir, stay — NORTHUMBERLAND. If at your bidding — yet bethink you well, This trick of irony is dangerous. Had you not guessed me for a friend, Twere fatal SC. IV.] MARY TUDOR. 27 To have used it thus — “The whelp of Arragon \ ” u Chaste Boleyn ! ” What if blood of these shall chance To grace, or blot, — (the thought was your’s) the throne? Were Dudley not a friend, these words might slay you ! EXETER. Be blisters on my lips ! NORTHUMBERLAND. The rather salve them : And for your best physician know John Dudley. Henceforth we are as one — nay — mark me, Devon — Or friends or foes ! Are we as one ? Why now. This hand I clasp, and to my living heart Fold it; in pledge of lasting amity. So for short space, farewell ! I go to plead Your cause before the Council, and my daughter Queen Jane — your loving kinswoman. Good night ! [Exit. ACT II. Scene I. The Hall of Framlingham - Enter Queen Mary Tudor attended . MARY. W HY is Elizabeth not here to greet me P Command her to the Presence. Beding- field These midnight ridings, imminent escapes, Make the heart quiver, and flushed temples throb. To the chapel, Fakenham : I would faindisburthen This sinful heart, and tortured brain, of all The imp-like fancies of this perilous night — Night, that with penitence must be atoned. jerningham [entering']. Sir Thomas Wyatt craves immediate audience. MARY. Religion claims us first. Let Wyatt wait. jerningham. He will not move his power, until assured SC. 1.] MARY TUDOR. 29 The Church as stablishecl by the late King’s law. Shall be upheld. MARY. May God assoilzie him ! And mend Sir Thomas Wyatt ! Bid him wait. JERNINGHAM. My liege — MARY. Sir Henry Jerningham, I have said. Enter Elizabeth. Elizabeth [kneeling^. Queen, Sister! MARY. To my arms ! Pardie ! sweet Bess, You daily grow more stately. Your great brows, Like our Cathedral porches, double-arched. Seem made for passage of high thought. ELIZABETH. Regard me Only as a sister : yet, if you need, or seek My counsel, it is thine, MARY. Nay, nay, fair girl. My counsel is with bearded warriours. And grey-cowled wisdom. 30 MARY TUDOR. [ACT II. ELIZABETH. Be it as you will. MARY. Yet never was kind counsel needed more By aching' heart. Little you know my trials. The fleetness of my horse scarce saved my life ; And I am Queen in nothing but the name ! Go friends — I would be lonely in my sorrow — O Sister! canst thou love me? thou her child — Beautiful Boleyn’s daughter ! who destroyed My mother — hapless Queen — dishonoured wife ! Thou too — my brother — spumed from thy throne, thy deathbed. 0 no! I shall go down into my earth Desolate — unbelovecl — I wound thee, sister ! Pardon ! I rave — I rave — ELIZABETH. Abate this passion ! In very truth I love you — fondly pity — MARY. Pity ! not pity — give me love or nothing ! 1 hope not happiness : I kneel for peace. But no : this crown traitors would rive from me — Which our great father Harry hath bequeathed Undimned to us — a righteous heritage — This crown which we, my sister, must maintain SC. I.] MARY TUDOR. 31 Or die ; this crown true safeguard of our People — Their charter’s seal — crushes our peace for ever. All crowns, since Christ wore his, are lined with thorns. Elizabeth ! that book-demented Jane Dares mount our father's throne : these base new lords (Sprung from our house's fatal policy) Turn from our nurturing hand to kiss her feet ! Elizabeth ! though thousands back the upstart. With hundreds, only, round us, we will smite her ! ELIZABETH. I love, and will maintain in front of battle. This spirit, as befits our house. MARY. Ha! ha! The cross shall lead our battle ! In the van Shall flame the holy sign ! Elizabeth ! Thou shalt be with me — thou ! albeit thy mother Bequeathed her misbelief to thee. Beneath The Cross Pontifical we'll tread to dust Those sordid Puritans : thou lov'st them not. Enter Fakenham. Lo, in good time thou comest to register My vow. 32 MARY TUDOR. [ACT II. ELIZABETH. This rage o’ermasters you : yet pause; Pause ’till with calmer reason — MARY. Am I mad? Think you Pm mad? I have been used to scorn — Neglect — oppression — self-abasement — aye, My mother’s scorching heritage of woe ! Ha ! as I speak, behold — she visits me — With that fair choir of Angels trooping round her, And cherub faces, with expanded wings Upbearing her ! O blessed saint ! depart not ! Breathe on my cold lips those still cherished kisses Which thine in death impressed ! Sigh in my ear Those half articulate blessings, unforgotten. Which made my childhood less thanmartyrdom ! I’ll clasp thee — Mother! [Totters forward and falls, ELIZABETH. Soft : she revives again. Give no alarm. Observed you this before? FAKENHAM. Not thus demented. ELIZABETH. You mistake. Her spirit SC. 1.] MARY TUDOR. Though masculine as well becomes a Tudor, Yet will her fragile body bend in storms. Already she revives: be prudent, Sir. M a r y [ recovering ] . Good father, why this look of grief? My sister, A grave rebuke looks coldly from your eye. Ah well, you smile! you love me in my weakness. Give me your arm — I need refreshment — sleep. [ Exeunt, Scene II. The Open Country in Suffolk . Enter Wyatt, Brett, and followers. BRETT. I tell thee, Wyatt, these my saucy knaves Of London City brook no tedious parleys. It addles clearer heads than ours to scan Your knotty quodlibets, with such a coil Of clerkly terms, and law-court jargonry, Citings of title, precedents and cases — Here Jane — there Mary — well we’ve ta’en our part, And here we stand right manfully for Mary. You bid us wait, ’Sdeath, sir, have we not waited D MARY TUDOR. 34 [act II. These twenty hours sans sleep, sans food, sans wine — Scant welcome for substantial citizens ! I pray you judge this matter reasonably — WYATT. The Queen, last night, care-worn and sad, perforce Declined our audience : in an hour she grants it. BRETT. The hours here lost were precious — WYATT. Well, they were so — But here comes Jerningham. What news? Enter Jerningham before Mary, Elizabeth, fyc. JERNINGHAM. The Queen ! MARY. We greet you well, our faithful Londoners ! You, Master Brett — and you, Sir Thomas Wyatt. Why ask ye audience? time it were for action. WYATT. We come prepared for deeds; but first, frank speech. I am too bold I fear me. MARY. So fear I. SC. II.] MARY TUDOR. 35 WYATT. These men had godly training from their cradles ; And, Madam, before all things they love God. That they stand here attests their loyalty. Your Grace’s claim is rightful: Lady Jane’s We, on deliberation, disallow. MARY. We are beholden to you: but our right Divine, needs not arbitrement of men. Say on. WYATT. I speak, my liege, as I am charged : The mouth-piece of these noble hearts, imp! edged To back vou, but with conscience satisfied. We grieve to see the royal banner bear The holy cross with Peter’s keys impaled- — An emblem which we dare not march beneath. I am bound to tell you, madam, we raise not Our weapons in a cause not wholly righteous: Wherefore we crave your royal gauge that all things Which touch the Church, rest as King Edward left them. MARY. Gentlemen ! — yea, to English Gentlemen Your Queen, in her extremity of w T rong, 36 MARY TUDOR. ACT II.] Is forced to make appeal. Ye press me hardly. Pleading your conscience. Sirs, think too of mine. You grasp at license: take it: but deny not The liberty ye crave. Little know ye By what vexations royalty is compassed ; Or what my special trials. You, as yet Little enforced, are firm. I too am firm : And firm have stood in dire extremity ; Perilling all for conscience’ sake. For this Will Englishmen desert me? Something moves you— Why murmur ye aside ? BRETT. My Lady Queen ? These men of mine, excuse their city habits — Make much of bargain and securities. They pray your highness for explicit pledges. MARY. Out on ye, men of pelf ! shall loyalty Be measured out at price? with legal phrase Indentured, and set forth like some vile bond ! You speak as though your Queen stood not on right. In panoply of arms and regal state ; But, cap in hand, pleaded through her attorney 7 . — I’ll not be interrupted — silence sir! SC. 11.] MARY TUDOR. 37 1 scorn to buy my rights. I’ll hear no more ! My Lord of Arundel, advance our banner ! Folio v/ for your hereditary faith — To London — forward ! ARUNDEL. Wyatt, be our guide : And Captain Brett shall guard the rear. BRETT. Lord Marshal, The city bands listen no voice but mine. MARY. God’s deatli ! you dare to parley. Master Brett? Obey our Marshal — or — brett [, sheathing his sword], I march no farther! WYATT. Nor I — yet on my knees, I pray you. Madam ; Relent — you will not? Even yet my prayers Shall be for your success, though in this quarrel I may not strike. MARY. False to thy God art thou, Deserting thus in presence of the foe ! Yon bartering churls obey their natural instinct. But thou — of noble blood — Sir ! yon’s the road To our revolted Cousin. She, perchance MARY TUDOR. 38 [act If. May hedge her bauble crown with pageant peers. Go Sir ! a coronet, or axe, awaits you. Begone ! you bar our way. WYATT. Alas ! my liege, How much you misconceive us time will show. Come, Master Brett — yet hear me, Arundel: We march, Ms true, apart from your main battle, But yet so near your flank none shall assail it. [ T urnin g to El iza beth . I speak in honour; trust me. Gracious Lady Plead thou. ELIZABETH. Arise, I pray : what power have I ? WYATT. Tell her how many thousand English babes, Now dancing on their father’s knees, shall weep In orphanage for this — how many wives Shall tear their v idowed locks o’er bloody graves, If this our Queen let loose upon her land The dogs of persecution, late chained down. Insatiate brood of Rome ! MARY. Now, by the Rood ! This is too much. Arrest him ! SC. II.] MARY TUDOR. 39 ELIZABETH. Pardon, Sister: Pie knows not what he says. MARY. Traitor, begone ! For once I spare. Advance, I say, our banner ! Up Tudor Dragon in rebellion’s face! Up, crowned Portcullis, guardian of the right ! Strike for King Harry’s memory, loyal soldiers ! Strike for King Harry’s daughter, grateful ser- vants ! Strike for the violated law, bold yeomen ! And ye, the church’s faithful champions, strike For the true Cross and the authentic Faith ! [Exe un t Mary and E liza beth . BRETT. Now, by all saints and martyrs calendared ! I could half worship such a tameless woman ; All shrewish though she be. With what a spirit Like thunder-riven cloud her wrath poured forth, And keen words flared ! Ugly and old? — to that I shall say nay hereafter. Autumn moons Portend good harvests. Yet, that glance at parting Flashed, fierce as sunset through a blasted tree ! But hey ! look yonder, Wyatt : half your men Are scampering after her. 40 MARY TUDOR. [ACT II. WYATT. I marked, and blame not. I mar no fortune, and coerce no conscience. There is a fascination — all have felt it — When Royalty and Woman join in one; Austere allegiance softening into love ; And new-born fealty clinging to the heart Like a young babe that from its mother's bosom Looks up and smiles. BRETT. Trust me, I am much minded To join her even yet. WYATT. It cannot be. I feel as you do : but I look beyond The tempting present. She goes forth to conquer : So strong a heart must conquer — then, what then P Ah ! know you not the indomitable spirit Which scorns all danger, spurns all compromise. Is bom for stern resolve, deeds pitiless? All must be feared from spiritual despotism — The axe, the stake, tortures, apostasy ! BRETT. Wyatt, I hate you when you play the augur. WYATT. The weight is on my heart of coming doom ! [Exeunt. SC. III.] MARY TUDOR. 41 Scene III. The Tower Chapel. King Edward’s coffin lying in state. Priests , Heralds, Choristers, fyc. CHOIR. Woe, woe, unto the people ! from our head The crown hath fallen ; our laurel wreath lies dead ! Our vine that yielded shade and fruit %> Hath perished from the root ! ANTICHOIR. The Lord from out his temple spake in vain : Vainly his prophets threat, his priests complain ! From wisdom all avert the ear; The froward will not hear ! CHOIR. We preached God’s wrath ; and bade without delay, The carnal heart turn from his evil way. For surely God’s avenging hand Smites every guilty land. 42 MARY TUDOR. [ACT II. ANTICHOIR. And lie hath sternly smitten ; as of old. When stout Josiali perished from the fold ; And Jeremiah’s deep lament With Israel’s weeping blent. CHOIR. Woes have begun ; our sorrows multiply ; Our terrors and our penitential cry ! For well we know we but begin To pluck the fruits of sin. ANTICHOIR. But oh ! ye sorrow -laden ! kneel in prayer That He, who once redeemed you, still may spare ! The vials of thy wrath no more. Lord, on thy people pour ! CRANMER. Weep, though in vain, poor hearts ! cry forth your sorrow. Like mendicants that at the temple gates Compassion crave from every passenger! And ye who shroud your grief in your close hearts, The rather let it stream forth from your eyes ; Eased by the general sympathy. SC. III.] MARY TUDOR. 43 Enter Northumberland. NORTHUMBERLAND. How’s this ? Why these desponding tones? Lives not the Queen P A VOICE. Long live the rightful Queen ! NORTHUMBERLAND. King Edward dead, Queen Jane is Queen : 1 say the rightful Queen. Your lamentable passion was too loud, For sadness to lie deep ; and ill comports With heedful loyalty. But be you joyful, Even in the honoured presence of the dead. It is the Living, not the Dead who reigns : Kneel not, then, to the coffin, but the throne. She comes ! ye trumpeters, awake the air With cheerful clangour, and salute the Queen ! A VOICE. Is this a place for cheer P O vanity Of vanities ! NORTHUMBERLAND. Who twice thus dares my anger P FAKENHAM. Hereafter I shall speak more plainly. [ Exit . 44 MARY TUDOR. [ACT. II. NORTHUMBERLAND. Seize him ! Enter Jane as Queen, led by Lord Guilford Dudley, attended by Duchess of Suffolk, fyc. §*C. jane [suddenly stopping with a strong shudder]. Wh at’s this? who has done this ? a sorry trick To fright me so ! NORTHUMBERLAND. Why looks our Jane so pale? My Liege — your pardon ! I forgot — but why That blank look on the ground ? jane [rubbing her eyes ]. ’Tis gone — Tis gone ! Yet no — Tis there ao'ain ! dread omen ! NORTHUMBERLAND. Give me Your hand, my liege. [Aside] Arouse thee child ! remember The eyes of thousands search thee through and through. Sleep-walker ! must I lead thee ? jane [draining back.] No — not there ! I step not there ! SC. III.] MARY TUDOR. 45 NORTHUMBERLAND [aside]. Art mad P JANE. I think I am — Mother ! DUCHESS. My child ! what means this terror ? JANE. Mother ! As I stand here and live, I saw it there. A bloody axe — there on that floor — It may be — It was illusion — yes — I know ’twas so — But I am sorely shaken — Bear with my weak- ness — 0 Mother, O Northumberland ! mark now The issue of your plots. Thou knowest, God ! That I am innocent of this offence ! This crown, this coffin-throne, this phantom-axe, 1 sought not, — NORTH UMBERLAND. Have a care. Pause ere you spurn them. Each backward step is to your husband’s grave. You are moved : you yield : come on ! JANE. God succour me ! 46 MARY TUDOR. [ACT II. NORTH U M B E RL AND. [. Leading Jane to the head of the bier . Barons of England ! Prelates of the Church ! Accept Your Queen ! God save Queen Jane of England ! [ Partial acclamations . The Queen is thankful for her people’s greeting; As after deeds shall prove. At her command I lay, my lords, King Edward’s Will before you. This noble deed, so fraught with prescient wisdom. Discreet discrimination of the Law, Regard for ancientness and precedent. Love for his people rather than his kin. And, above all, true zeal for holy church. Shall stand a monument, our Christian charter. Pride of all English hearts. My Lords, I use No trope of phantasy, bombastic phrase, But speak plain truth in language plain, affirming The Nation’s with the Church’s weal bound up. Both with this Queen’s succession. Take this deed, Lawfully drawn, authentically vouched ; And here delivered to the assembled State In presence of the Dead, whom we adjure, And of the living Princess whom we serve. Peers, Knights, and Burgesses, behold your Queen ! SC. III.] MARY TUDOR. 47 KING AT ARMS. Hear all ye people ! Look upon your Queen ! The high and mighty Princess, Lady Jane, Grand-daughter of your late King Henry the seventh. By right of blood, and by King Edward’s will. Queen of this realm of England, France and Ireland, Defender of the Faith ! God save the Queen ! CHAMPION OF ENGLAND. [ Throwing down his glove. Which I avouch against all adversaries ! NORTHUMBERLAND. And I make good against a host in arms ! [ Partial acclamations. FAKENHAM. Hear me, ye men of England ! Hear, Jane Grey, One honest, faithful voice. NORTHUMBERLAND. Back, miscreant ! darest thou Withhold her title from the Lord’s anointed P FAKENHAM. Anointed not — nor will be ! a vain title, Blown like a bubble from the popular breath. Makes not a Queen: but lineal blood, liege love, And consecration by the Church — that Church 48 MARY TUDOR. [ACT If. Which on the rock stands firm, and holds thekeys! I fear you not, Duke of Northumberland ! My trust is God — and, under God, this Lady; A victim, not a traitress ! NORTHUMBERLAND. Seize, and slay him ! What ho ! the Captain of the Guard ! PEMBROKE. Not so — My son is not an executioner. Pause, good my Lord : this passion shakes her Grace. NORTHUMBERLAND. Bar not my way ! PEMBROKE. The time, the place, the presence ! A brawl of blood before the coffined King, And a throned Queen ! [To Herbert ] Remove the fanatic Make room for the regalia ! Officers enter ivith the regalia; which they present kneeling . The Nobility then come forward , orderly , to perform homage. Northumberland [, kneeling ] . In the name MARY TUDOR. 49 sc. III.] Of England’s Peerage, I salute the Queen ; And, kneeling on this consecrated earth. Do swear — Pembroke [sneering ly~\. Not consecrated earth, my Lord ! Her Grace’s foot is on Anne Boleyn’s grave — And yours on the Protector Somerset’s ! NORTHUMBERLAND. Accursed night of omens ! [Starting up. PEMBROKE. Pardon, mv Lord, — Her Grace expects the interrupted oath. NORTHUMBERLAND. I’ll have no more ! break up the ceremony — What noise is that? PEMBROKE. Something hath moved the crowd. Silent it stood but late in street and court With upturned faces gleaming to the moon ; So motionless and passive, their inaction Trust me, was awful. Now their coldness thaws ; And, like a snow-slip down the mountain side, Thundering they rush, choking the narrow ways. NORTHUMBERLAND. Event treads down event — Shut gates ! up draw- bridge ! E 50 MARY TUDOR. [act II. Enter a Warder accompanied by a Courier . NORTHUMBERLAND. What slave thus startles our solemnities? Bird of ill omen, speak ! COURIER. Sir Edward Hastings — NORTHUMBERLAND. Ha! what of Hastings? I much trusted Hastings — With manifold commissions — COURIER. He hath joined The Lady Mary, with four thousand men. NORTHUMBERLAND. Lav hands upon his brother Huntingdon ! Enter a second Courier . NORTHUMBERLAND. Varlet ! what evil croak is thine? SECOND COURIER. Your ships, Which lately buffeted the German sea. By stress of tempests driven to Yarmouth roads. Have yielded to Sir Henry Jerningham. Enter a third Courier . NORTHUMBERLAND. What— more disasters? SC. III.] MARY TUDOR. 51 THIRD COURIER. The Lord Grey of Wilton Bade me report, the Earls of Bath, and Surrey, Joined to Sir William Drury, Sir John Skelton, And others, men of note, proclaim Queen Mary. NORTH UMBERLAND. Their heads shall wither on these towers for this! — Arm, arm, my Lords ! Rebellion is in arms ! And like a reptile must be trod to death. Suffolk ! tis thine to lead thy daughter’s battle. To victory — to vengeance ! PEMBROKE. Hear calm counsel. Madam, your father ought to guard your person. No heart so loving, and no faith so trusty. As is a father’s. Furthermore, where arms In the ranged field must arbitrate, a Leader Of marked renown should guide : one whose known pennon Shakes terror from its folds. Northumberland Is Captain of the age. NORTHUMBERLAND. I go not. Madam, The soul of safety severs from its body If I depart. Within this city lurk 52 MARY TUDOR. [ACT II. Malcontent spirits, that will mount to mischief. Let Suffolk lead. SUFFOLK. Pembroke’s advice seems wise. Guilford approves. GUILFORD. I ride forth with my father To smite this false Bellona ! JANE. Spare me, Dudley ! My judgement is at fault. Northumberland, The council’s will be our’s : Go forth to conquer ; If conquest, in this cause, indeed be just. NORTHUMBERLAND. Are your eyes stricken with judicial blindness? Or masks this show of zeal some dark intent That dares not face me forth ? So be it. I go ! But ye who stay, remember, Dudley’s sword. Two-edged, can smite false friend or open foe. PEMBROKE. Point you at me. Lord Duke? NORTHUMBERLAND. I point at no man. O, my good Lord ! let not the unaccused By self-excuses seem as self accused — ■ Madam, at your command I go. [Aside] Hark, Guilford ! — SC. III.] MARY TUDOR. 53 Watch Winchester: and if you find him false. Chain him up like a hound. For Pembroke — mark — If you suspect him — if you but suspect — Crush him — as I this beetle ! [Aloud] Peers of England ! As I comport myself, guard you the Queen. [ Exit Northumberland attended. JANE. I would be private, for brief space ; to pray Beside these loved remains. [All retire except Lord Guilford , the Duchess and Fakenliam , who kneels , unobserved at the bier . jane [kneeling]. Poor pomp of woe! ghastly magnificence ! Beneath that veil what fearful sight lies hidden? I dare not pry into thy depths, O grave ! For oh ! those eyes, so sweet, severe, are glazed ; Those lips that were so eloquently wise, That brain so stored before its time, that heart Pure as a fountain of celestial love. Cold are they now — dead, dead ! Pardon, dear Shade ! The feeble form that dares enact thy greatness. Not mine that choice, O brother of my soul ! No lust of power unsexed, nor idle gauds 54 MARY TUDOR. [ACT II. Betrayed my woman’s heart: the public weal. Thy will, alone, compelled ; dragging me hither, To pine, a pageant Queen — or — God have mercy ! Sink an abortive traitor to these vaults Whose every pavement is the monument Of public crime avenged. GUILFORD. You rave, my Jane ! These shadows vex your brain. FAKENHAM. I charge you, stay ! Daughter, I heard, rejoicing — in my heart Thy passionate pleading sank, sacred as thoughts Breathed in confessional. Hear in return The voice of God. The Heaven to which I point Attests my truth, and I adjure the dead ; Laying my hand upon his coffined dust! Treason — and ye have overstepped its verge — Treason, the Judas crime, that, in itself. Includes all other horrors that deform The angelic guise of Man — this sin strikes home To Heaven itself: for Majesty divine His own imperial type vouchsafes to earth ! Ay, Kings are by God’s ordination fixed On pedestals so fenced with faith and worship, Compassed with sacramental oaths and incense. SC. III.] MARY TUDOR. 55 That to deface, obstruct, or counterfeit Is of the Church accursed, by human law Banned without pity, and avenged by God. Hear me, fair child ! more sinned against than sinful — Time yet remains for penitence. jane flying to her Mother ]. O shield me ! Re-enter Northumberland attended. NORTHUMBERLAND. How’s this? Pernicious Priest! we meet again. You prophesied these vaults — foresaw the scaffold. FAKENHAM. The spirit that was then, is now upon me. The block is near, but which shall be the victim, Which witness I discern not. NORTHUMBERLAND. Juggler, Wizard ! The flames shall purge that spirit — Jane, your hand — Your’s, Guilford — I must speak one hurried word Ere treacherous tasks part us, perhaps for ever. This soft hand, Jane, unaided, is too weak To uphold the sceptre ; and this polished brow To bear an unsupported diadem. MARY TUDOR. 56 [act II. ’Twere well the matrimonial throne were shared. Young though he be, my son's strong temper- ament. And subtlety — that’s his inheritance — Boldly shall shield it. You speak not — Kneel, Guilford ! Kneel to your Queen for safety : supplicate Your wife for thus much love. JANE. Strengthen me, God ! Support my fond, weak nature. No, dear husband ! This may not be — no royal blood is thine — No subject can ascend the throne — the Law Forbids it as a crime. GUILFORD. Love can do much — Straining, not wresting law. Fathers of kings Are not unworthy crowns they can transmit. JANE. Guilford ! I love thee fondly : but this thing I dare not — will not do. FAKENHAM. O noble creature ! NORTHUMBERLAND. Dog, if thou barkest I will strike thee dead. SC. III.] MARY TUDOR. 57 FAKENHAM. Strike, if it be permitted thee : if not, The angel of the Lord can burst these walls. And free his servant, as he freed of old The apostle Peter! I defy thee ! NORTHUMBERLAND. Marry ! They spoiled in thee a marvellous good player, Making a monk. Remove him ! Queen ! farewell ! Lack-wits are castaways betimes. GUILFORD. Farewell ! JANE. Abandoned by my husband P God have pity ! NORTHUMBERLAND. Guilford, remain; or all is lost. I join Your hands. Forgive her. All may yet go well. [Exezint severally . ACT III. Scene I. A Street in Cambridge. En ter N o rth um berl an d. N 0 RTH U M BE RL A N D. I HAVE plunged too deep. The current of the times Hath been ill-sounded. Frosty discontent Breathes chilly in the face of our attempt: And, like the dry leaves in November winds, These summer-suited friends fly my nipped branches. What’s to be done? Time, like a ruthless hunter, Tramples my flying footsteps ! banned and baited By my own pack, dogs fed from mine own hand Gnash fangs and snarl on me ! Palmer ! what ho! Enter Sir John Palmer. Thine eyes are downcast — heavy falls thy step — Sure token of bad tidings. SC. I.] MARY TUDOR. 59 PALMER. Ah ! my Lord, Let me advise — NORTHUMBERLAND. Advise me no advice ! Let me know facts. Will our men fight — or march ? At least will they disband P You shake your head. PALMER. Indeed, my lord, the signs of disaffection Are manifold. Some stalk with sullen brow Musing apart: some gather in pale knots Whispering with sidelong glances: some stride boldly. Attesting men and saints that you betray them. In vain have I assayed all flatteries : At threats they laugh. NORTHUMBERLAND. Good Palmer, threaten not : Sooth rather — We must change our course, my friend. PALMER. Too late ! NORTHUMBERLAND. What other hope remains? I thought To loose a tempest on the Tudor's head : no MARY TUDOR. [ACT III. But like a summer shower it melts away. Too bright the sunshine of true loyalty Flames in our eyes. The sword fails: we must kneel. PALMER. You should have weighed this ere you goaded us To this alternative. The lion’s paw Is terrible to those who fly, or grovel. Are you not moved P NORTHUMBERLAND. I have been Fortune’s mate, So long, my friend, I trust not in her smiles — Fear not her frown. I tell thee. Fortune’s wheel O’er the subjected world of men and things Shall yet roll onward, bearing Dudley’s Fates. If time hold out, at worst one friend remains — Our Adversary’s madness! That shall avail More than our best of wit. I know this Mary : But the world, knowing not, made her an Idol. She shall be known ere long. I bide my time. Here part we — save thyself. [Exit Palmer. Now wit befriend me ! These Malcontents ’.—still will I march theirleader, And be the first to hail her Queen. If spared, With jibe for jibe I meet short-witted knaves: He who would rise bends while the tempest raves. SC. II.] MARY TUDOR. 61 Scene II. Wanstead Heath . Enter Mary, Elizabeth, Arundel, fyc. ARUNDEL. Heaven smiles, my liege, upon the righteous cause. Welcome thus far upon your prosperous wav. Here rest your wearied foot — your foes disperse F rail as the dust before their giddy feet. MARY. How name you this fair prospect? ARUNDEL. Wanstead Heath : By Epping chase. MARY. Flow blest these breezy downs, With purple heath and golden gorse enamelled; Each bosky bank with dewy windflowers strewn, Each dell with cowslip and rathe violet— And the sun-loving daisy on hill tops Drinking the light! Ah, happy shepherd’s life ! He this sweet solitude, without constraint. Explores, his chosen damsel at his side : 02 MARY TUDOR. [act III. Recounting tales of love and plighted faith : Or from his pipe pours such delicious song That the wild hare in the close bitten lane Pauses with ear erect, and timorous deer That down the labyrinthine forest glade Goes bounding, starts aside, and turns to gaze. ELIZABETH. Old times return — discourse for ever thus. MARY. Beneath this chesnut canopy, sun-proof. Cool as a cavern on the ocean shore, Pll take my rest. ELIZABETH. Not new to me this scene. Oft have I chased the red deer through these wilds, With our loved Edward. MARY. Saints be with him now ! He loved you, Bess : not me the unbeloved ! ELIZABETH. lie loved you well till traitors edged between. God pardon him. MARY. And them ! Preserve me, Lord, From the vindictive Fiend that tempts my spirit. SC. II.] MARY TUDOR. 63 ELIZABETH. Forswear sad thoughts. In fancy let us rove These downs and coverts. From yon breezy brow. Like a monk's head close-shaven, with boscage fringed. Oft have I watched Paul’s steeple, o’er the smoke Of the great City glistering like a pyre. Along the horizon spread the billowy tops Of Hainault’s forest oaks : nor far uprears The Fairlop tree his huge trunk, grey and bossy ; A mighty shade, where village maids at eve In dance and song with rural archers sport. [A distant Trumpet sounds. ARUNDEL. The hart is near the toils. Thoughtless of fate, I hear his wanton belling on the wind. Enter Winchester and Pembroke. MARY. You are welcome. PEMBROKE. On our knees we sue for pardon : For that, long hampered in false Dudley’s meshes. We stood aloof, in mock disloyalty. Praise be to God ! the summer Sun hath risen To dry our tearful cheeks. God save the Queen ! 64 MARY TUDOR. [ACT III. MARY. Well have I known your hearts were dutiful Albeit your outward carriage was unliegeful. Let worthy posts, Lord Marshal, be assigned them! [ Great shouting heard . ARUNDEL. Fortune comes bounding on a flowing tide. O O MARY. What means this tumult? ARUNDEL. Dudley’s ill-sorted Bands Have flung their arms aside; and hither rush, Frenzied with loyal zeal. Enter Northumberland with Soldiery in disorder . NORTHUMBERLAND. Hold back ! this ardour Shall fright the Queen, not please her ! Thus, my men ! [ Throwing up his cap . God save Queen Mary ! MARY. Down with your sword ! what mean you? Me thou can’st neither frighten nor cajole. Kneel, traitor, kneel ! SC. II.] MARY TUDOR. (55 NORTHUMBERLAND. Lowly to earth abased, A penitent sincere, I crave your mercy ! I might have lived an exile ; but prefer To stoop my forfeit head and trust your pity. Too well my momentary treason (yea Treason it seems till you have read my soul) Deserves death. Yet considerately judge Confessed infirmity; remembering mercy, That best prerogative of Royalty ! The common herd — [ Pauses . MARY. Nay, let your say be said. You have license. Sir; proceed. NORTHUMBERLAND. I cannot harm you — %/ But can well serve. For I have piloted The state so long that all its perilous leaks And privy treasons are to me revealed. And shall to your Grace if this poor life be spared. MARY. My Lord, I muse much at your strange appeal : And shall take counsel on it. NORTHUMBERLAND. Not with my foes ! So were I crushed to screen their double treason. F f)fi MARY TUDOR. [ACT III. Your gracious nature knows not to delude. Trust your own wisdom. Give me hope ! MARY. To live In righteous hope needs hope beyond this world. They only who serve God in his true Church Partake that blessing. Sir, you should have hope : But you have served, till now, whom hope disowns. I shall revolve your suit. My Lord, retire. Keep him in ward, not rigorous, but observant. \_Exit Queen Many , attended . NORTHUMBERLAND. My title she withholds not. That is well. And when she lectured of the hope men feel Who serve in the true Church, her eye had meaning, Beyond her words. True Church? there’s food herein For cautious meditation. ARUNDEL. Please you, my Lord, We must proceed. Time presses. Forward, my men ! [ Exeunt . SC. III.] MARY TUDOR. 67 Scene III. The Great Hall of the Tower. Enter Jane with Guilford, jane. Midnoon — yet silent as midnight ! my heart Flutters and stops — flutters and stops again — As in the pauses of a thunder storm ; Or a bird cowering during an eclipse. Alone, through these deserted halls we wander, Bereft of friends and hope. Speak to me, Guilford. GUILFORD. Thy heart-strings, Jane, strengthened by disci- pline, Endure the strain. JANE. Say rather, my Religion Hath taught this good. Nor lacks our female nature Courage to meet inevitable woe With a beloved one shared. GUILFORD. I cannot bear this ! Is no one near ? My throbbing brain will burst ! 68 MARY TUDOR. [ACT 111. Not one of all those courtlin^ servitors W ho thronged this hall but yesternight? Heaven’s curse Palsy their servile souls — smirkers and cringers ! Where are they now ? Gone like foul fogs to choke The morn they hail. JANE. Such is men’s deem of us. We have obscured a dawn ! If spared, God grant We may make bright the Queen’s triumphant way Like clouds that glorify the wake of noon. GUILFORD. Away this specious wisdom ! it but goads me ! Kiss me, sweet Jane ! Soothe me with loving words — Breathing warm fancies, nectared as thy breath ! One passionate embrace may stifle thought. But this cool meekness stings me. [ Embracing her . jane [ withdrawing hastily]. Ah, for pity ! Is this a time ? We should concentrate thought, Not dissipate — make strong our hearts, not weaken. GUILFORD. What would you have? SC. III.] MARY TUDOR. 69 JANE. Be all a man should be — A Christian man, a loyal gentleman ! GUILFORD. And you P JANE. I am content to die with you. GUILFORD. Jane ! Pm not worthy of you. JANE. Nay, dear Love, Say not so — think not so. I am too bold — Indeed I was too bold : and ’twas not wife-like So to repulse you — See, my father comes. What news, my father? Enter Duke and Duchess of Suffolk. SUFFOLK. Dudley too falls from us. He was the first of all that craven crew In Epping Chase to cry “ God save Queen Mary ! ” Foul Traitor ! JANE. O my Husband ! I forgive him. And thou — resent not that my Father chafes. SUFFOLK. Daughter, the time is come when you must doff 70 MARY TUDOR. [ACT III. This regal style and ill-beseeming state : The ceremonials, now the exequies. Of your departed greatness. JANE. Sir, far better Brook I this order, than my forced advancement. Too dutiful a daughter, I forgot A subject’s duty, when, at your behest, Reluctantly, yea sinfully, I wore them. Take back the crown. Even yet a prompt sub- mission May quit my great offence. Go then, my Fa- ther, Seek out the Council. In our names renounce This treason. Plead, while the Queen’s gracious heart Melts in this summer solstice of success. DUCHESS. Simple as wise, thy counsels now shall guide us. Haste we ! the growing tumult in the street Heralds the Queen. SUFFOLK. Beloved Jane ! pray for us. For thou alone art fit to call on God ! [. Exeunt Duke and Duchess. SC. III.] MARY TUDOR. 71 Enter Fakenham, who approaches Jane. FAKENHAM. Daughter, your hand ! — Excuse a poor monk, Sir, Who not unused to royalty, makes bold To pity one who must lay down a crown : To reverence one whose virtues would have graced it : * To comfort one who, having worn it wrongly, Bows her meek spirit to the chastisement. I take your hand: and — what I would not do In your prosperity — with bended knee. Kiss humbly ; paying to your spiritual brightness That homage which your grandeur could not win. JANE. Fakenham ! true minister of Christ art thou ! Fearless of danger in discharge of duty ; And to the mourner prodigally kind. FAKENHAM. Perhaps I can be serviceably kind. I am your witness that your will was thrall To ever-blinding love; mistaken duty. You both are very young — you and your husband : * And he so wrought on that his dazzled eyes Saw haloes and mock suns where’er they turned. 72 MARY TUDOR. [act hi. I who have known the world, and knowing, spurned it, Who for myself would dare, for others invoke, The worst of temporal suffering if thereby Fruition might be won of joys immortal, I w'arn yon, by no quibble seek to ward Right judgement. Plead your kindred : sue for mercy — God give you light and grace ! JANE. My conduct, Sir, Shall be to your advice conformable. FAKENHAM. The council freed me ; rendering all the captives Unto my charge. Ah, precious were those souls That pined so long for the pure air of heaven ! These have I called to meet the Queen : and thus Make Liberty the first fruits of her reign. Enter Exeter, Gardiner, Bonner, Ton- stall, O worthy gentlemen ! I greet you well ! GARDINER. Thee first, O Lord ! we bless for this great mercy ! Through intercession of good saints vouchsafed ! To thee too, blessed Virgin ! we give thanks. SC. HI.] MARY TUDOR. 73 For life, for liberty, for heaven restored ; And holy Church thus justified in us ! Good Fakenham — chosen instrument — receive The Church's benediction ! FAKENHAM. I am thankful. Thine this peace-offering’. Lady ! May the Queen Accept the precious gift with spirit appeased ! JANE. O Guilford, hope ! GUILFORD. It may not be : this man Deceives himself, or us ; the very captives, Whom we had spared, pass us with looks averted. Jane, we must brave the worst ! JANE. Endure it, Guilford ! A salute of trumpets : acclamations : the castle gate is opened . Enter Queen Mary in warlike habi- liments , with Elizabeth : preceded by a large golden cross. Also Arundel, Winchester, Pembroke, Suffolk, with his Duchess. Other Lords , Heralds , and Soldiers. MARY. Here plant the Cross — staff of our pilgrimage! 74 MARY TUDOR. [act HI. The pillared cloud at noon, and flame by night. That cheered my fainting heart, and made me fearless. [ She kneels before the Cross . Type of our Faith ! awful expositor Of mysteries unspeakable ! thou leading. Have I not followed with untiring hope, Taintless fidelity? Have I not dared Dangers from open foes, from friends estranged, Hateful suspect even on my household floor, Perils of death, perils of mine own heart — And in my brain — threatening my very soul? Yet do I not for this, O Virgin Mother ! Arrogate glory. Honour to thee ! who hither — Even to my Father’s hall, hast led me victor; Calm, though much moved ; exulting yet not proud : By triumph undebased. [_Rising~], Fakenham — good father ! Servant of the Most High, in his name, hail ! These are thy liberated captives? Well Hast thou performed thy dangerous offices. Bid them come near. O venerable Prelates ! Scarce less than Martyrs, ye I first salute. Gardiner! uplift the cross once more in Winton. Tonstall ! take back thy staff to Durham. Bonner ! Be mitred chief of this proud city again. SC. III.] MARY TUDOR. 75 My Lord of Norfolk, with much joy I greet you ; First of our English Barons. You, fair cousin Of Exeter, come hither — Ha ! long years Of durance have not dimmed thy soft brown eyes. Nor streaked with silver thread thy chestnut curls. I marvel at thy freshness, gracious youth. Young as thou art; for prisoned years count double. Lead me, dear cousin, to my throne : now kneel. Rise up, Sir Edward Courtenaye, Knight of St. George ! Fakenham, what wouldst thou say? FAKENHAM. Receive, my Liege, These captives from a hand, that, seeming guilty, Is yet most pure. From this unhappy Lady Accept this priceless boon. JANE. Pardon, sweet Cousin 1 Pardon, wronged Queen ! Let my compunction wake Pity, yet slumbering in your woman’s heart. You turn away ! — then God be my support ! Beware ! FAKENHAM. MARY TUDOR. [ACT III. r> JANE. All Sir! too gently have you judged me. Usurper of the consecrated crown, The sacred sceptre, how can I be pure ? Welcome Adversity, lifter up of veils ! Before me, naked as a soul for judgement, Stands up my sin. ’Tis well ! the worst is o’er! Suffer I must; but I will sin no longer ! Can you forget P — dare you forgive? If not I bow, a penitent resigned. FAKENHAM. Great Queen ! At this most hallowed moment shed not blood ! Do I presume ? MARY. Sir, you presume. Your station Is our confessional. There, as a daughter, I stand submiss — your Sovereign here. These nobles, These prelates are my lawful council. These I can rely on, and my proper self. Who dreamed I was athirst for blood ? % God’s death ! An if I were — or if the general weal — Or if the people’s cry — or if the Church, Uttering the voice of Heaven, demanded, — who Should stay my hand ? SC. III.] MARY TUDOR. / / FAKENHAM. Alas ! I say no more. MARY. You have said too much. Competitors for thrones For ever lose the rights of privacy. If tools of faction, what avail their virtues P They represent opinion ; are its leaders — And must confront the peril they provoke ; The penalty that gnaws the heart of treason ; Promethean pangs which the roused Majesty Of Heaven inflicts on those who grasp its fires ! faketnham [ aside .] The demon wakes within her heart: yet hope. I w'ait a milder moment. MARY. Duke of Suffolk ! Your case — and yours, madam, my cousin, differ From your bad daughter's. We commit to you Her custody — beware you break not trust — But separate from her husband. jane [kneeling]. Part us not ! MARY. Separate from her husband ; and confined Within these walls. What grace soe’er we yield 78 MARY TUDOR. [ACT III. To you, extends not to this guilty couple. They answer their offence. No more. Depart. [. Exeunt Duke and Duchess of Suffolk, Lady Jane, and JjOrd Guilford Dudley . Your hand, my Sister. Exeter, take this Your Sovereign’s hand ; and this her fairer sister’s. Lead forward : be henceforth our chamberlain. [Exeunt. Scene IV. A Street in London. Enter Bedingfield and Jerningham. JERNINGHAM. The Queen hath won her own : the kingdom peace. May both wax prosperous ! but to that end Means must be found agreeable to Heaven. I do not think her Grace assured in health. What if she die — die childless P J3EDINGFIELD. Heresy Will triumph with reaction terrible. Not Jane, nor yet Elizabeth will spare. JERNINGHAM. She should be urged to marry. SC. IV.] MARY TUDOR. 79 BEDINGFIELD. Whom p JERNINGHAM. I know not. Some English gentleman — say Exeter, From prisoned boyhood grown to gracious man- hood. BEDINGFIELD. Her father slew his father. Blood cements not Fabricks of love. Besides, captivity Hath left him scant of knowledge. JERNINGHAM. Comely he is, And stately in his presence — gracefully bows — Talks nothings airily — is affable — He lacks not what shall please a woman’s eye. BEDINGFIELD. A Queen who loves her people, seeks in wedlock, A counsellor to guide her troubled hours. Will Exeter be such? JERNINGHAM. There is a man, Whose royalty of soul outstrips his birth — Whose youthful graces pleased her maiden fancy Long years agone; ere yet an honest frankness Drove him, a fugitive, from Henry’s hate — 80 MARY TUDOR. [ACT III. Reginald de la Pole. BEDINGFIELD. The Cardinal? Alas that one word clips the wings of hope! JERNINGHAM. No. The last vow, which bars him from the world. He hath not ta’en. Pole would adorn a crown. BEDINGFIELD. Religion fills his heart. No room for love ! Courtenaye is near ; and opportunity Feathers Love’s arrow. She will take the wound. JERNINGHAM. Has ta’en — if I see rightly. Marked you not Her mien — her eyes — her smiles — her gracious words — When-first they met. BEDINGFIELD. Yes — he will be her choice. JERNINGHAM. What if he choose not her ? Have you not marked His eyes are on the Princess, while his tongue Waits on the Queen. BEDINGFIELD. Thou hast the trick of courts. The double dealer still sees double meanings. SC. IV.] MARY TUDOR. 81 JERNINGHAM. May all end well ! But much my mind misgives me. Equals in age, Time, as it flies, endears ; But pairs ill-matched, dispart with parting years. Scene V. The Queen’s Cabinet . Enter Mary, Arundel, Gardiner. MARY. These orders expedite. I shall preside At this great trial. ARUNDEL. Doth it please your Grace That all shall be arraigned to-day — or each Called separately to plead P MARY. Each separately : But all confronted. Hark you — there are rumours Of tumults in the city ; gatherings Of sottish malcontents in hostelries ; And fanatick preachments in the Queen’s high- way. Let the Queen’s Sheriffs look to this. I brook G 82 MARY TUDOR. ACT III.] No nightmare wonderments — no babbling brooders Over small plots : wring off the heads of such. It is reported that Sir Thomas Wyatt In Suffolk speaks great things : admonish him : And that one Captain Brett his mouth enlarges, Among swash-bucklers, prentices, and gownsmen, Against our rights. Cut me this license short. I know this Brett; a dangerous man, who parleys With treason, and consorts with hereticks ; A man without respect for forms or persons. Your office puts into your hand a sword To smite such evils. Let it be done. GARDINER. Dread Madam, The voice that I shall speak with to offenders. Pitched at your tone, shall make the guilty tremble ! [ Exeunt . ACT IV. Scene I. Great Hall of the Tower , as a Court . Enter Queen Mary, attended by Gardiner as Chancellor , Norfolk as High Steward , Arun- del as Earl Marshal , Cranmer, Pembroke, Winchester, s time, they say. Full seventy thousand their viaticum Had from the hangman. SANDYS. Miserable Land ! See how God’s wrath hath stricken ! Now at length Hath he begun to punish ; as long since Prophets have threatened. Lo ! each heart, each hand. Each tongue of Englishman is set against His neighbour : the broad realm is rent asunder. England ! thou ship tossed on tempestuous waters ! Thy crew in mutiny — rocks on thy lee — A maniac grasps thy helm ! England ! that knew’st not SC. II.] MARY TUDOR. 185 When thou wert blest — now desolation sweeps thee ! Yet, yet, obey thy God — receive his Word. So shalt thou yet find mercy ! WESTON. Out upon thee ! Unmannerly Ranter ! SANDYS. Ha ! I will not shrink. From the good fight. Say on, besotted man ! WESTON. Were ye God’s children, surely God would bless you. And prosper your endeavours: but behold. Your doctrine is abjured, and its professors Most soundly rated by good men : and therefore Ye cannot be of God. SANDYS. O thou Iscariot ! WESTON. Nay, thou shalt hear me out. This is of God Which our good Queen and Bishops do profess. Lo ! how God prospers them ! How notable The victory wherewith he hath enlarged her ! Ye Gospellers ! how many have come back From your vain texts — rejecting your vain doctrine ! 186 MARY TUDOR. [ACT II. Once we bad plenty in the land : but now There’s nothing like as was. But let that pass. You thought your Gospel was ensconced for ever With statutes: welladay ! new laws pass now Contrariwise upholding what ye banned. This shows your doctrine cannot be God’s law. UNDERHILL. Be thou rebuked, O Sathanas! — If men Had godly wit, in their Queen’s victory They might discern that God would hereby win her, By kindness to his Gospel. Furthermore Because that they who went against her put Their trust in carnal weapons, not the Lord ; In this they erred. Some have recanted, say you ? Yea verily : — their seed was cast on stones, And withered. Such for gain took up the Cross ; And, for gain, lay it down. Your Parliament Pass laws (I say it stoutly), not by reason. But clamour. ’Tis the many not the better Who rule. We’ll bleed for this in coming time! A CITIZEN. Away — away — is this a time for preaching? Away ! the pitiless Riders are upon us! [ Great uproar without — Exeunt dispersedty. SC. III.] MARY TUDOR. 187 Scene III. Council Chamber , Whitehall, Queen, Egmont, Renaud, Gardiner, other Lords. queen [kneeling]. God be my witness that my sole desire Is England's welfare in this marriage. Never Should lip of man approach my maiden cheek. Nor change come o'er my chaste and honest life. But that a dearer interest than mine own Compels me. Count of Egmont, take my troth To Philip and to Spain. EGMONT. And here King Philip And Spain impledge their faith to thee and Eng- land. MARY. 0 pray with me, and for me, my good Lords, That God may make these nuptials fortunate! EGMONT. 1 take your royal hand, and with this ring. In my master's name, espouse you. 188 MARY TUDOR. [ACT II. QUEEN. I accept it ; And will return him faith inviolable. EGMONT. May Heaven protect my Queen ! perhaps your Grace Will deign send missives by me ? QUEEN. Bear my love And gentlest commendations. J Twere not meet That I wrote first. Tell him — yet no : nay, tell him I count the minutes till he come. RENAUD. Permit me To be so bold as to suggest Twere prudent His Grace delayed, till treason be put down. Too many prisoners your Grace releases. QUEEN. It was the custom of my forefathers To pardon criminals upon Good-Friday. I have released but eight. Of these, Northampton, Queen Katherine Parr’s own brother, took no part In the late treasons. RENAUD. Pardon me — there may be Some guiltier — our Prince must be kept back, SC. III.] MARY TUDOR. 189 Should your Grace yield to mistimed clemency. This book may show how traitors should be crushed. QUEEN. My Lord, I read the Greek in his own tongue. And need not French expositor to gloss The venerable text. Our English law Shall better guide us than Hellenick legends. We lean on Alfred not Thucydides. RENAUD. Forgive my plainness. Can King Philip come While criminals remain unjustified? Your sister waits her trial. GARDINER. Let me speak. While she, the Princess, lives, there is no safety * For England, for the Church. If all your servants Went to work roundly, as I do, your Highness Were better served — How now. Sir? whom seek you? Enter Bridges Lieutenant of the Toiver. BRIDGES. Your Grace will pardon, if, in a case like this. Your servant feels misgiving. This sealed warrant Commands me yield the Princess; to be dealt with 190 MARY TUDOR. [ACT II. As sentence shall direct. QUEEN. O thou good servant ! Thy Queen, on her heart’s knees, thanks and rewards thee. Whose is this deed? — By God’s death ! answer me! Ay, Gardiner, thou shalt answer for this thing, If thou hast done it. GARDINER. Let me see the paper. A sorry trick to fright the Princess — trust me, I had no hand in it. [_He tears the warrant . QUEEN. Inhuman hounds ! That worry your poor victim ere you slay it. But I shall baulk your malice. Silence, Gar- diner ! Too much already hath been said : your tongues Are deadlier than poison. Bridges, through you, Who pitied poor Jane Grey, I shall henceforth Secure my sister. You have known and loved her. You are my servant now. Receive your knight- hood. \_She knights him . He retires . RENAUD. My liege — for such my lord’s betrothed is now — Pardon that I have chafed you. SC. III.] MARY TUDOR* 191 QUEEN. You have waked A devil within my heart and in my brain ! Your master, on my soul ! sanctioned not this. RENAUD. The King* wills nought which can offend his Queen. But, Madam, you have hardly judged my words, Misconstruing their purpose. Not the death, But the removal of the Princess seek we. Removal, was it not, my lord P We feared To hurt your Grace, and spake in ambages. GARDINER. I meant to say, while here the Princess lives This realm and church, are perilled. Is that false? QUEEN. I’ll have no double-meaning speech, nor tricks To frighten or mislead. Look to it : or bide The consequence. RENAUD. Then, unambiguously, I counsel that your Grace remove from England The Princess by a bridegroom’s sweetcompulsion. No lack of suitors. Philibert of Savoy Proifers his hand to fair Elizabeth. 192 MARY TUDOR. [ACT II. QUEEN. We thank the princely suitor: but our sister Mates not with the deposed of Piedmont. REN a u I). Perhaps your Grace would yield your royal sister To the kind keeping of the Hungarian Queen. With such a noble matron, watchful, virtuous, She might rest well and safely. QUEEN. Be content, Sir. My sister hath but one friend in this council ; Myself, companion of her youth. It may be She hath compassed ill against me : yet will not I, Who fostered her lone childhood, now destroy her By death or exile — You are malcontent. Conform ye to my will ; I shall not swerve. RENAUD. The Queen’s will shall be law ! QUEEN. See well to that ! [ Exeunt . SC. IV,] MARY TUDOR. 193 Scene IV. The Queen's Closet. Enter Queen, followed by Elizabeth. ELIZABETH. You would not see me when I sent the ring: The token of your love, that was to guard me If anger grew between us. QUEEN. When this outbreak First threatened, and malicious tongues im- peached My sister’s faith, I sent for you to Ashridge. I prayed you on your love to come to court. And pledged you mine. You came not ; pleaded sickness. I waited long : then sent Lord William Howard, Your mother’s uncle, with my own litter for you, And three physicians. ELIZABETH. Was I not most sick? QUEEN. Ay! sick at heart — sick with unlawful longings o 194 MARY TUDOR. [ACT II. For an untimely heritage. You sought When circumstances frowned, and charges grew Against you, to assail me with your tears, Win with caresses. Then I answered — No. We meet not till your conscience and your acts Shall be as a crystal which the sun shines through. ELIZABETH. My conscience is unflawed, unstained. You see Shadows, not mine, behind it, not within it. This is not just. QUEEN. Elizabeth I love you ; And therefore seek to favour : but I rule you. Justice demands this of me. It was well That by the old law, which my act restored, I have abided : thus you rest secure. No overt act of treason proved. I tore The ciphered manuscripts which, they alleged, Inculpated my Sister. God forefend That any, far less one so dear, should fall By evidence so easy to be forged. You stand acquitted. God, who sees all hearts. Grant you be clear from sin ! ELIZABETH. Upon my knees ; SC. IV.] MARY TUDOR. 195 And gazing* on you through my streaming eyes, I do protest my truth and loyalty — I ask no favour, I implore no pardon. QUEEN. Well, well ! belike as you so stiffly stand Upon your truth, we have dealt wrongfully. ELIZABETH. Your Sister must not say so to your Grace. QUEEN. But you will so report. ELIZABETH. Believe me, never. This burthen I have borne and still must bear : Yet humbly, as your loving Sister, crave Your kind construction. QUEEN. Be it so. God knoweth ! I thus replace your ring ; pledge of new love. Or innocent or guilty, I forgive you. [ Exeunt . 196 MARY TUDOR. [ACT II. Scene V. Antichamber, Whitehall Palace . Enter Gardiner aw/ F akenham. FAKENHAM. You seem disturbed, my Lord; yet all things prosper Even as you wished. The King is on the sea : The Queen right joyous in her match : the Peopl If far from satisfied, appeased. GARDINER. The People Must be broke into questionless obedience; Or they’ll not suit King Philip. Never knew I A horse well managed save with whip and bit. Touching religion (thus speaks Latimer) We must plough fast, plough deep, plough skilfully. No less say I. The Queen is all our own. She would press argument on argument. But Fakenham, wot you of no shorter method Wherewith to deal with traitors P SC. V.] MARY TUDOR. 197 FAKENHAM. We who grant The spiritual supremacy of Popes, Of the three parties which divide the realm Are weakest. We are strong but in the Queen. That church was Catholick which Henry stab- lished ; Though Antipapal : and it stood confest A favourite in the land, though stained with blood, Plunder and tyranny. The Puritan, Dexterous in reasoning, clamorous in debate. And in his protest fierce as blatant beast. Commands the vulgar throng. GARDINER. What matters it If the Queen now strike home? FAKENHAM. My Lord, your cry Is ever “ Strike.” GARDINER. And who bade Jehu strike? Go to ! Were Korah, Dathan, and Abiram Worse men than Cranmer and his crew? I marvel That one, knowing the Queen so inly, doubt How she will act, if with discretion guided. When Philip comes — soon may that be ! — my friend, 198 MARY TUDOR. [act II. You have known Philip. Touching his externals, I cannot praise his portrait : but his mind Will suit us. What say you P FAKENHAM. A moody man. Whose countenance is ghastly, bearing dismal : For ever wrangling, rude. His glance is sinister — Stealthy : his laughter a sardonic sneer. I would rather face a vulture o’er a corpse. Than such a man, whose hell is in himself. He is a tree of death — GARDINER. Whose seed shall be For life. Beware. You have a caustic brush : The canvass burns beneath it. FAKENHAM. There are strange rumours How that his first wife died mysteriously. GARDINER. Mysteriously P mysteriously P God’s passion ! Women will die ! — What boots it how she died P FAKENHAM. Much — to our Queen. GARDINER. You ne’er will be a Bishop — A shrewdsh tongue ! look you, Sir, what’s to me. Or you, or any man, how ’twas she died ? SC, V.] MARY TUDOR. 199 The woman’s dead. God give her rest ! tis well. And he is free. Tis very well. Ask not Why ? ’twas God’s will : if not, she had not died. Enough of this — we’ll talk if talk you must, Of something profitable. Cease these jars Answering no end, but wasting love — the Queen ! Enter Queen. queen. The airy spirit of my heart takes wing, And flies to its repose ! no more my brain Teems with fantastic images that grew To vices in their sheer exorbitance. I shall be all I ever hoped — yes, Fakenham, All, with God’s help, your lessons would have made me. FAKENHAM. May you be wise unto salvation, daughter ! Beyond this, even for my queen, I pray not. Enter Oxford. OXFORD. The King, my liege, will land this eve at Hampton. QUEEN. O joyful new's! Haste thee — yet stay — Take this The collar of St. George : I would have sent The crown, if England willed it. Say that I, 200 MANY TUDOR. [ACT H. Grandchild of Isabella of Castille, Who knew so well to govern, yet obey. Will yield implicit honour to my spouse. Attend his Highness hither; and as beseemeth A faithful counsellor, advise wliate’er Shall to his glory redound. Away, away ! IE xeunt Oxford and the Queen . GARDINER. Is this your statue of eternal rock, Or adamant unshaken ? — Said I not The mood would change? FA KEN HAM. The change was sudden. — Slowly Her first despair to penitence gave way, And thoughts of public duty. Duty done Ministered peace : and health and hope suc- ceeded. A gradual process this. Now, like a plant Of tropic growth, her heart sends up, renewed. Its loving aspiration after love ; Which wife-like duty, and religious vows Auspiciously (so seems it) shield and sanction. God help thee, heart betrayed ! GARDINER. God grant King Philip Health, and a hand unsparing. So — farewell. [Exeunt. ACT III. Scene I. An open space in the woods near Winchester . Enter Philip, Egmont, fyc. A storm . PHILIP. A SORRY clay for our solemnities ! I kiss this crucifix. Avert the omen! Most holy James of Compostella! — Halt ! A cruel wind — a rain that chills my blood ! Egmont, observed you, bow those surly lords Scowled as they rose up from their stiff-bent knees, As though, pardie ! they had a mind to say, “ Why doff you not. Sir King, your barret cap?” EGMONT. They shall he taught, my liege, the courtesies And homages of Spain ere long. PHILIP. Good Saints ! What must I suffer in this pestilent land ? 202 MARY TUDOR. [ACT III. If I put off this cloak I shall be drowned ; And smothered if I wear it! There’s no force In English prayer (for surely they have prayed) If this be a fit greeting for a Prince, Thus wending to their ancient gentlewoman. Egmont! methinks I spied a pretty maid At Hampton in the church of Holy-rood, Where we made our thanksgiving — Many such They say this England nurtures. That is well. EGMONT. I trust your Grace will shrewdly take to task This admiral Howard, who laughed to see our sailors Elbowed and hooted when we first touched land. PHILIP. Ha! when have I forgotten? EGMONT. And that insult. When he bade strike our topsails, as his right From all in the narrow seas. PHILIP. I shall remember The admiral when it suits me. — Who comes hither Unlaced and hot with posting? Step you forward, With hand upon the hilt. SC. I.] MARY TUDOR. 203 Enter Underhill. underhill [kneeling]. The Queen sends greeting Unto your Highness with this ring. PHILIP. Its purport? UNDERHILL. I know not. Philip [retiring]. Nor I you. Come hither, Egmont. You know their speech: examine him ; ^tis strange. Some token of danger it may be. UNDERHILL. The Queen Hoped, lovingly, you rode not in this storm. PHILIP. No more than that? J Tis well. Sir Englishman, We knights of Spain make light of storms like these. Nor man nor storm fear we. UNDERHILL. Dread not the first. Lord King ! we Britons strike in war alone. PHILIP. I am glad to know it. Sharp in retort I see. 204 MARY TUDOR. r ACT III. Your English way T trow : but hark you, sir, ,r Tis scarcely safe to bandy words with Kings; Or hang too closely on their skirts, to catch The careless thought just trickling into speech. My Lady’s servant, prithee look to this. On, sir ! what, Egmont, may we trust our guide P EG MONT. I’ll warrant him a trusty. PHILIP. It were needful. Choked with this sleet, half smothered in these hogs — What a climate ! what a country ! what a people ! Yet doth my stomach yearn for sack and manchet. Truly your hunger is a grievous thing, Yea an unruly ! If he delay, good Egmont, Just hint what perils edge a prince’s anger. They say your Saxon churl loves generous viands — Methinks they are scanty, or the mouths too many. What crowds blackened the beach ! each rock, each hill Looked verminous with dusky multitudes — •/ If God take none to his glory, there shall be lack. [Exeunt. SC. II.] MARY TUDOR. 205 Scene II. Cathedral interior , Winchester. Enter to marriage ceremonial , Underhill, Sandys, fyc. The storm continues. SANDYS. This is the consummation of our wrongs — 0 wicked match ! and none will have more cause To rue it than this woman. UNDERHILL. God forbid it ! SANDYS. Forbid this match ; but not its consequence. She doth contemn God’s word — her father’s laws — And brands her brother as a heretick. Yea, barters her broad kingdom for this tyrant. UNDERHILL. 1 mourn these things with you — all past amend- ment. SANDYS. Lo ! how these Dons vaingloriously come pran- 206 MARY TUDOR. [ACT III. Castile and Arragon shall lord it well, In London city. Have a care, my masters ! Of your fair dames, domains, and equipage, Your shady forests, and well-stocked preserves — The spoiler's furtive eye now gloats upon them ! UNDERHILL. You’ll be observed. SANDYS. I care not. See, base Gardiner Rolls onward like a shark gaping for prey. Shall nothing glut thy maw, foul beast — betrayer Of thine own land — salesman of liberty? Enter Bishops of London, Winchester, Dur- ham, <$fc. After them Philip and suite: then Queen Mary, Elizabeth, Margaret Doug- las, Gage, Nobles, fyc. gage [to Sandy s']. Keep silence. Doctor Sandys, or you shall rue it. UNDERHILL. Nay, hold thy peace: if careless of thyself. Spare one who brought thee hither. HERALD. Silence, Sirs ! FIGUEROA. I, Count of Figueroa, Regent of Naples, SC. II.] MARY TUDOR. 207 Salute the Queen of England, in the name Of the most potent Charles, the Emperor ; Who this day by my hand, resigns his kingdoms Of Naples and Jerusalem to Philip, His much loved son : and doth hereby declare His pleasure in this bridal ; mating thus Royal to Royal. If impediment Be known to any, let him speak. [King and Queen approach the Altar. The storm encreases — thunder and lightning . s andys [speaking from the crowd]. A voice From heaven replies in anger: and a voice From man in warning: and a cry, O Queen ! From the universal Church — beware, beware ! PHILIP. Saint Jago ! wherefore seize ye not the traitor P Ha ! brave Castilian Knights ! gardiner \_aside~\. Heed him not. Sire. Some solitary malcontent — I know him. I Dungeon and rack shall not be spared. [Aloud] Who gives The Queen away? [a pause] Whose oversight is this ? Fools ! not to have foreseen so plain a case. [Aside. 208 MARY TUDOR. [ACT III. Who gives her Grace away, I askP [ Pembroke , Derby , and Bedford approach . We give her, In the name of the whole realm. PEOPLE AROUND. God save the Queen ! God save King Philip likewise ! [Philip offers a diamond riny. QUEEN. Nay, my Lord, — I would be wed like any other maiden With the plain hoop of gold. philip [ putting on a gold ring ]. Then thus I wed thee. [ Proclamation of style — Jubilant music — the Procession retires from the Church . The storm continues. SANDYS. A heavier day for England and the Church Never hath closed in tempest. Lo ! the heavens Do speak their malison ! it is God’s anger That flashes round us ! mark these omens well. [Exeunt. SC. III.] MARY TUDOR. 209 Scene III. Hatfield . Elizabeth alone . ELIZABETH. Man fears too much — too soon — too causelessly ! Again I live for hope — despond no more! 0 Hope ! whose wings fan heaven, I woo thee back To earth, thy needful home ; the tilth whereon We shake thy goodly seed. To sow — to reap — Are they not one? the effort is fruition ! Enter Egmont, Oxford, How now ? I would be mistress of my time — Why come ye, Sirs, unhid P egmont. With missives. Madam, From my lord King. Methinks they’ll please you well. ELIZABETH. Sincerity is Honour’s nursing mother ! 1 tell thee, Spaniard, nought from him shall please. p 210 MARY TUDOR. [ACT III. EGMONT. My lord of Oxford shall avouch — ELIZABETH. Say on. EGMONT. The King’s grace, and the Queen, with hearty love Commend them to your Highness ; hailing you Right heiress of the realm. The Council, too, In such wise add their duty. ELIZABETH. With equal greeting Elizabeth replies; thanking the People — The People first, the People last, and only; Who ever have upheld and will sustain her; As her undoubted blood and taintless right — (Ay taintless right in eyes ye cannot blind) Demand. And, noble Spaniard, hear me further : There lives within this heart a stirring pulse Which shall make good its royal destinies. EGMONT. The People ! weather-cocks your Grace may find them. Be wary. ELIZABETH. Sir, contemn them not ! who makes SC. III.] MARY TUDOR. 211 A mirror of the sapphire or the diamond — And not betakes him rather to plain glass. Within whose broad reflexion we behold T r u t h u n d istorted ? EGMONT. Madam, I have done. But do they murmur ? are not the People quiet? ELIZABETH. Ay, sir, as slaves ! the free proclaim their griefs, Like beggars in the street. The slave who fears In every hand a lash, is voiceless. He Who under wrong is silent, hoards his vengeance. Fear most who least complain. Judge, Sir, how far I am beholden to King, Queen, or Council — Or Nobles of the land. What friends stand by me? Faithful in danger? Wooton, Mason, Cecil. These are not Nobles — noble though they be. Strong in the People’s love, dare ye assail them ? Behold where lies my safety ! EGMONT. Not less safe Shall be the Court, to which we sue your presence. ELIZABETH. Sir, be content. I go not yet. My sister Must, as a wife, be to her spouse compliant. 212 MARY TUDOR. [act III. And thus that rule prevail which I abhor. OXFORD. Madam, not so. The Queen’s known constancy, Proved thoroughly when the need was exigent. Shows she will nothing yield adverse to honour, Through weakness. Wives may be submiss to husbands : But a wise Queen shall seek wise counsellors, Whereby ensue wise measures. ELIZABETH. She shall seek And shall not find — my father never found them. Wise counsellors shall for themselves be wise. And lock their lips. The King shall name the Council. oxford. Madam, in England Parliament hath power To chain up sycophants and bridle tyrants. ELIZABETH. You may so say. Pray God it prove so 1 but There shall be much ado. Have you not travelled 5 How rule the Spaniards (pardon, Count of Eg- mont !) In Naples, Sicily, and Lombardy? Are these oppressed not ? Say, are bonds and buffets SC. IV. J MARY TUDOR. 213 To them unknown ? look too for these in England. Gently and fairly shall they speak at first : But waxing strong, then shall they filch your ships, Your forts — usurp your offices ; ascending The topmost tower of tyrannous acquest. EGMONT. Rule we in Flanders thus? Are Englishmen Compliant beyond Flemings ? ELIZABETH. Peradventure If tempted sorely, we may not content you. EGMONT. There shall be no temptation. ELIZABETH. None? so be it ! My lords, ye have my answer. Fare ye well ! [Exeunt severally. Scene IV. Queens Cabinet , Whitehall . Queen, Philip, Gardiner, Lords and Council. queen. I am far from well, my lords, as you may see. God lays a heavy hand on me. His will 214 MARY TUDOR. [act 111. 13e clone ! I take the privilege of sickness To meet you here, not in full parliament. Before the coming of his Eminence The Legate, hourly looked for, I would explain Our exigencies. PEMBROKE. Without doubt your Grace Should have full satisfaction. QUEEN. I would urge you (What less shall please, but to your souls hereafter Be of true comfort) that you reconsider The Churches claim for spoils that you have taken — PEMBROKE. Your father took — QUEEN. Well, Sir, he took for you. PEMBROKE. Our swords protect the Church : our lands sur- rendered, Our swords are swords of glass. QUEEN. Greedy — too greedy — Are ye, my lords, of pelf. I find you, truly. Pliant, fair-spoken : but, your mammon touched, SC. IV.] MARY TUDOR. 215 The lands filched from the Church, ye tap your swords. And cry, We part not with our abbey spoils !” PEMBROKE. They were fair grants, the guerdon of fair service. Your father’s gift our swords are bound to guard. QUEEN. So be it ! I must be content, I see. With setting good example. I devote What to the crown pertains to foster learning. And feed the poor. PEMBROKE, How then support the crown, With an impoverished purse P QUEEN. Sir, I prefer My peace of conscience to all crowns of earth. [_A discharge of ordnance without . Enter Sir John Gage. gage. The Cardinal Legatees boat hath touched the beach. QUEEN. The Cardinal arrived ! my dear, dear Cousin ! Go, my lord Chamberlain, — go. Sir John Gage, MARY TUDOR. [ACT III. 216 And bear our greetings to bis Eminence. o o Let his Legantine cross be borne before him ; And all appliances of holy state Attend his blessed footsteps. This, our King, And vve, shall welcome him on Whitehall stairs. [ Exeunt Oxford and Cecil. PHILIP. You are right gracious to the Cardinal. In Spain we condescend less. QUEEN. Ah ! you’ll love him, As I do, when familiarly you know him. PHILIP. I somewhat doubt it. You were sick, you said ; — Too sick to issue forth and meet your Commons. QUEEN. ’Tis but a score of paces. I would fain Show fitting reverence to a holy man. PHILIP. As you will, Madam. Ho ! the pageant waits. Her Highness’ self shall usher through the gates! [ Exeunt . SC. V.] MARY TUDOR. 217 Scene V. Council Chamber , Whitehall . Queen and King throned. Lords , fyc. seated round . Enter Cardinal Pole, attended by Prelates , GARDINER. The parliament of England heartily Speaks welcome to your Eminence. My lords Of the upper house ! my masters of the nether ! I here present to you the most reverend father. Lord Cardinal de la Pole ; Legate a latere From the Apostolick See ; ambassador On the weightiest matters which can affect the realm. / My lords, lean to him with accordant ears. CARDINAL. Since it hath pleased the Almighty counsels. Madam, To call you to this throne, and worthily Wed to a Prince, the first in Christendom, Your realm hath cause for high content. It stood O’er an abyss, now pierced with hopeful light: The day hath dawned so passionately longed for : To the life of God’s own children we are reborn 1 218 MARY TUDOR. [ACT III. Behold, with outstretched arms the ancient Faith Comes to your gates, asking the crowns and palms Wherewith your pious ancestors endowed her. Once more knit up her trodden robe ! once more, O froward children, hear her maternal voice! Return to her beneath whose sacred mantle Salvation can alone be found. Be sure The light devolving from great Gregory Still shines from Peter’s chair. Who turns from it Renounces hope. Peace ripens in its beams ! Return O Shunamite ! return fair Island! Appease thy terrors — all shall be restored ! The morn hath come, the works of darkness pe- rished ! Henceforth thou walkest in the light of God. QUEEN. O noble kinsman ! virtuous Reginald ! We thank thy zeal and shall make fitting answer To thy high mission. I have survived despair. A helpless virgin hath our Ladie favoured ; And won her battle. Faith hath piloted This shattered barque at length to a happy haven. Here stand we, without question. King and Queen : And, with our Parliament, implore the Pope For reconciliation. Take this missive: SC. VI.] MARY TUDOR. 219 It is sincere. Kneeling we crave your blessing ! PHILIP. Your Eminence shall pardon my stiff knees — Stiff, Spanish manners. Ha ! I cannot kneel. CARDINAL. With overflowing heart, I bless thee, daughter — And bless, in thee, thy People — Help! — she faints! queen [aside]. Make no alarm. This may perchance give joy To loyal hearts. O bliss beyond expression, If God vouchsafe to crown the desolate With bloom of her ow n garden ! cardinal [aside]. What means this? fakenham [aside]. Vain dream of hope ! more sorrows are to come. Scene VI. Palace, Whitehall. Queen, Philip, Gardiner, Pole, queen. You will not go so soon P PHILIP. Why should I stay? MARY TUDOR. 220 [act III. My counsel goes for nought, backed though it be By your wise Chancellor. QUEEN. Alas ! I know not In what I have denied you ; save this only — Recourse to death and torture : when my heart, My judgement, yea my conscience, dictates rather The force of free discussion. GARDINER. Pardon, Madam. Reason no eye-salve brings to men whose will Shuts out the truth — QUEEN. But have you fairly tried it ? PHILIP. What call you fair? If to probe truth and find it Even in men’s vitals ; dragging crime to light, As doth our holy office in Castile, Be just — and who so bold as to deny it ? — Then is it just to use all cogent means Which shall extort confession. We rout foxes With fagot from their holes : why not unkennel With fire the vermin which infest the state? CARDINAL. Forbear, my Lord, by forced analogies To blind plain reason. Even those Puritans SC. VI.] MARY TUDOR. 221 Are rational ; and better may be won By logick, than affrighted by brute strokes. PHILIP. Your Eminence hath powers of persuasion Unknown to me. I have no time for talk. (Preserve me from all babblers!) — I love listeners. My maxim is, compel men to their good : And if they thank you not — the fault is theirs. What say you, Chancellor? GARDINER. Your Grace speaks wisely ; And shrewdly to the purpose. QUEEN. The laws of England Provide sworn juries ; fellows of the accused ; To hear the evidence, and give their verdict. Leaning to mercy. GARDINER. Under correction, Madam, Of judges versed in law. PHILIP. Ay, ay, my Aunt— Your Mother — sometime Queen of this good land — This land of equal laws — veracious juries — Had what you call fair trial ! let me see — 999 MARY TUDOR. [ACT III. Bishop, your predecessor, Doctor Cranmer, Was the assessor — judge — or advocate — (Saint .Tago ! what know I of your law jargon P) In that fair process : and for his fair demeanour Therein, our Queen now tenderly entreats him ! It stirs my bile to hear such squeamish cries As certain dames — no babes God wot — and gal- lants Disguised in petticoats like dowagers. Raise at the sight of blood. QUEEN. My lord, my lord ! Degrade me not ; yourself, my lord, degrade not ! I am unworthy as a woman — none Knows better — be not angry that I w eep — But ah ! forget not thus I am thy wife — Thy Queen. PHILIP. Ha! Ha! QUEEN. King Philip, dare you make A jest of all things holy P can you wound The heart that loves you? PHILIP. Madam, I am grave. But I am not to be cajoled — with tears; SC. VI.] MARY TUDOR. 223 And whining posies ; and dramatic rant. This hand (nay, I will hold it while I please) You gave in pledge of conjugal obedience. I condescended to advise, when right Entitled to command. The obstinate I thought to shame with raillery : but, look you, I have not sold my youthful liberty By this ill-sorted spousal — - QUEEN. Outraged ! outraged ! Why sought you then this spousal? — PHILIP. Why? great kingdoms May be compacted thus. My father willed it — Sage counsellors advised. Were these not reasons? But hear ye, Queen and wife, if here my will Be not obeyed, I will not here abide ; But cast you from me — thus. [Queen sinks down. CARDINAL. Now I must speak Or die ! — GARDINER. Hush, hush ! CARDINAL. Thou traitor to the altar! 224 MARY TUDOR. [ACT III. Bethink thee — marriage is a sacrament Which to profane is deadly ! Look on her Who gave thee all her wealth, her crown, her people ; And, above all, her virgin heart and person; And hoped thee her true helpmate through this world. Nor in the world to come to be divided. And now you shake her from you as an asp — Or poisonous froth shot from a rabid lip ! PHILIP. Were I a basilisk Pd look thee dead ! Out — vermin ! CARDINAL. No! my lord. The church hath thunders: Suspended hang they o*er thy head — beware ! GARDINER. Pray you, retire. CARDINAL. Not so. My heart is strong : And like some stalwart wrestler, who hath need Of exercise, and doubts nor heart nor limb, I shrink not from the combat. He who carries His C ross, a daily burthen, well may stand In front of any giant of the ring Who boasts he can move spheres. SC. VI.] MARY TUDOR. 225 PHILIP. My lord of W inton, Let the poor player say on. We can afford. Smiling, to look down on his petty stage — And meditate — his guerdon. CARDINAL. Ay : you are great Above us by your station, as the vulture Upon his mountain pinnacle. What then? The arrow makes a pathway on the air ; The peasant’s hands can reach the feathered tyrant, And from the vale quench his despotick eye. Sir, you have heard the truth now I have spoken. PHILIP. Once and too much. QUEEN. Ah me ! [she swoons j . PHILIP. Go, call her surgeon. Remove her to her chamber — a good riddance ! CARDINAL. Hard as the millstone, and as cold ! King Philip ! There is a book in heaven wherein the deeds Of men are graven. Q 226 MARY TUDOR. [ACT III. PHILIP. Sir, you may retire — Surely you heard me notP — you may retire! Begone ! — it is my pleasure! CARDINAL. I depart. My place is otherwhere. Never henceforth, Transgressor, shall I meet thee, face to face. Until thy sin by penitence be absolved ! [Exit. GARDINER. A pestilent hot headed fool ! PHILIP. A sample Of English talking on Italian thinking. In Spain we think — and act — not speak. Is he A heretick ? the late Pope had misgivings : — The man out-braved them. Next, at Rome they sought To make him Pope : and that he may be yet. It were not well — [pause] we must consider this. Pope P never ! Lambeth P Ha ! Gardiner — a word. Think you one may be found — a witness — ha ? — GARDINER. Philip [whispers']. Like you not this Naboth's vineyard P Trust me. 227 SC. VI.] MARY TUDOR. Tush man ! should Pole be Primate? Are there none Can testify of this man— so and so ? — Shall Pole, I say, be Primate ? GARDINER. God forbid it! PHILIP. Be sure he’ll not forbid, if man allows it. See well to this. Gardiner, wert thou Archbishop, This land were cleansed anon. Look to’t, I say. GARDINER. Who to great Philip’s will shall answer nay ? [ Exeunt . Scene VII. The Queen's Closet , Whitehall. Queen, Margaret Douglas, Fakenham. queen. I am lighter, gentle cousin. What hath chanced. That thus of strength and sense I lie bereft ? MARGARET. Sleep on — you need refreshment: need all powers Of your great intellect and noble courage. 228 MARY TUDOR. [ACT III. Sleep and awake for action. QUEEN. I am ready. Let me consider — dim, dim, dim, the vision — And dark with heavy clouds — but they disperse — Gradually, slowly — Ha ! the blow comes back ! If stung and stunned — it stings again ; but stuns not. Hold — let me think — what’s to be done ? poor heart ! Thou wilt not break! insult unmitigated! Witnessed — by him ! — by Pole ! O Reginald ! Avenged ! MARGARET. What means she P FAKENHAM. Hear, but mark not. — Daughter ! QUEEN. Ay, call me thus : thy spiritual child ; Humble and needing love, — albeit a sinner. FAKENHAM. A sinner surely ! who hath not sinned P but now Much sinned against. QUEEN. Feed not with idle comfort. Sin earns its shame. Feeble and worthless am I. Something here — in my burning heart and brain — SC. VII.] MARY TUDOR. 229 Tells me I yet shall be all good men’s loathing. 0 mercy, heaven ! I shudder at myself. At once to love and hate, caress — revenge ! Hide me, good angels ! FAKENHAM. Daughter, what is this P Think not so falsely of thyself. QUEEN. Ay, Fakenham ! Wouldst thou too pamper pride ? O, Sir, beware ! To sap the sense of shame is to make pillage Of the soul’s chastity. FAKENHAM. Restrain, I pray you. This vehemence of passion, that from the height Of just resentment hurls you to despair. QUEEN. Pray for me, father. FAKENHAM. Join with me in prayer. What should avail my prayers, if yours are dumb? QUEEN. 1 ask but prayer : I seek no miracle. Though holy prayer availed to part the sea — Though prayer brought manna from the fruitful cloud — - MARY TUDOR. 230 [act III. And water from the rock — and caused the sun O’er Gibeon to stand still. Such miracles I ask not ; nor, entreated, would expect. But pray for me, that, even as the thief On the third cross, I may have peace in heaven. I am sinking — sinking — sinking ! Pray, or I perish ! Enter an Usher . USHER. The King, may it please your Grace. queen [ springing up]. The King ! King Philip ! O speed him hither ! stay : here’s for thy news — A jewel from my finger. Haste thee, friend ! Enter Philip moodily. QUEEN. > 0 Philip, Philip ! art thou come to me ! And shall there not be now an end of weeping? 1 was thinking of thee — whom else think I of ? I talked of thee — of whom is all my talking ? But thou art here again : and my poor heart, Like a caged bird, is beating at its bars. To fly forth to the comfort of thy bosom. Speak — speak — my soul ! and give me peace. PHILIP. How’s this ? SC. VII.] Are we alone? MARY TUDOR. 231 QUEEN. No, surely : Margaret, And my good confessor — PHILIP. I am not blind. There stand they, with wide eyes, and open ears ; Eaves droppers — spies. You hear me, Sir and madam ? FAKENHAM. We but await her Grace’s pleasure. QUEEN. Go! Go, quickly ; — go ! ah my dear lord, I saw not Aught but my husband. Am I pardoned? PHILIP. Mary ! QUEEN. Blessings upon thee for that little word ! PHILIP. I have pondered much of late — I have weighed — I say— These differences — working to estrangement — You mark me? QUEEN. Breathlessly. 232 MARY TUDOR. [ACT III. PHILIP. Ay — where was I P The estrangement — wrought by interloping priests — And meddling confessors — and confidants — Hark ye, your confidants, or man, or woman, Are pestilent — eschew them — QUEEN. I would wish To shape myself in all things to your wishes. PHILIP. Compliant helpmate! then we have not quarrelled ? QUEEN. Ah, Philip, spare me ! PHILIP. Saint Jago ! hear her ! Spare? have I struck thee? bared my poniard to thee ? Poisoned thy cup ? queen [faintly smiling]. Thou art not dangerous. PHILIP. I know not that — I must be short with you. I cannot abide your Cardinal. QUEEN. My Cardinal? — SC. VII.] MARY TUDOR. 233 PHILIP. Well : the Pope’s legate : Reginald de la Pole. Despatch him. QUEEN. My good lord ? PHILIP. Ah ! you mistake. Not in that sense — -just now. Yet’twere not ill. QUEEN. I trust we still talk riddles to each other. What is your purpose P PHILIP. As to that — but no — The time must ripen. What I would have — now — Is simply the removal of this Legate. (The Pope shall soon recall him — if all live) You must reject him from your presence: spurn him. As I this cushion. QUEEN. Wherefore do you hate him P PHILIP. Call it not hatred, but antipathy : Such as the callow chicken feels for hawks. Or wild horse for the wolf. Aversion call it : That wraps me in a cold and clammy horror 234 MARY TUDOR. [ACT III. When we approach. I know he cannot harm me ; And have small doubt, he would not if he could. But still, my flesh creeps if I do but touch him, As when one strokes a cat’s hair ’gainst the grain. If he looks grave, I straight grow cholerick ; If cheerful, I abhor him ; when he laughs. My vitals sicken. Odious is his garb Of ostentatious purple; jewelled hands; That beard down-streaminglike the chissel’dlocks Of Moses from the hand of Angelo. — O QUEEN. Why what is this but hate — brute, undiscerning : The hate that grows in too self-loving hearts? PHILIP. I thank thee, loving mistress, for that taunt. What more ? QUEEN. Bear with me : my heart throbs to bursting. PHILIP. Well then — if full confession please thee better — Think I do hate him — What say you now ? QUEEN. Just heaven ! To hate God’s image thus, without a cause, Is to hate God; and wound him through his work. This was the sin that hurled the Archangel down SC. VII.] MARY TUDOR. 235 From Heaven to Hell’s abysses : this the sin That drave forth Cain, a branded wanderer 1 Let it be cleansed and shriven — or you shall go To your account hereafter, linked with these. PHILIP. And if so, were not these the mighty Ones Of Earth and Hades? you are much too flippant. Blame you not God, blaming his instruments? And such are Kings : such Attila, God’s scourge : Such he who the earlier Becket slew : such Mary, Whom after times may call the bloody Queen. QUEEN. Indeed I have done much — may God forgive me ! Pray for me, Jane ! linked with thy Dudley, pray ! PHILIP. Arouse thee, woman ! thou shall yet do deeds To earn that name indeed. QUEEN. What stab comes next ? PHILIP. Who told thee I could stab? speak, idiot, speak ! QUEEN. Believe it, I meant nothing — you affright me. PHILIP. Then, meaning nought, speak less. Attend to me. I have directed Gardiner to impart 236 MARY TUDOR. [ACT III. My final, stern resolve touching these prelates; Felons heretical. They must die: or thou And I meet never more. QUEEN. I do but dream — It cannot be— thou canst not be so cruel. Unsay it ! PHILIP. Thou canst dream; well know I that — I never. Would that I could learn of thee ! I will not say it again ; but see you do it : Or — QUEEN. Oh be silent ! let me think — go not. PHILIP. Farewell ! till you have thought upon this matter. Go not ! QUEEN. PHILIP. When you are tractable — QUEEN. Oh go not ! PHILIP. I shall take thought on my return. Till then. Take my farewell ! SC. VII.] MARY TUDOR. 237 QUEEN. I cannot lose thee thus — I cannot lose thee now — my heart is breaking ! [Philip goes out. Queen sinks in a passion of grief. Scene closes. SCENE VIII. A Chamber , Whitehall Palace „ Philip, apart : Enter Gardiner and Bonner. GARDINER. He’s in a moody temper. How he’ll chafe, Hearing my conference with her Grace ! BONNER. And message. Will he bear thisP and not be dangerous ? His Spanish gentry tell strange tales. GARDINER. Hurt us ? Tut, man! Who strikes off hands for their of- fence— Or plucks an eyeball out because it frets ? 238 MARY TUDOR. [ACT HI. PHILIP. Ila ! ha! ha! ha! [He rises and walks up and down. BONNER. Why does he laugh so grimly P And rub his hands so fiercely, and pluck his beard ? GARDINER. His way — his way. When any new conceit Of pleasurable malice takes his fancy, ’Tis ever thus. BONNER. Well: God gives instruments. We’ll not complain. gardiner [kneeling']. My liege ! PHILIP [starting]]. How now? how now ? Why come you on me suddenly ? Ho ! Egmont ! GARDINER. Matters of privacy, my lord — we came Duly announced. Your pardon. PHILIP. I was musing. The feather of a pleasant phantasy Tickled me, and I laughed — did I not laugh ? SC. VIII.] MARY TUDOR. 239 GARDINER. Right joyfully methought. PHILIP. There you mistook. I never laugh for joy. My lady Queen P What said she to our message touching Pole? GARDINER. That she will not desert a faithful servant. PHILIP. Ha ! ha ! why see you now, I laugh again. This was foreseen. A missive for the Pope. A word aside with you. Bonner’s a butcher Whom, wanting, we employ ; but not consult. If the Pope prove refractory, like Queens — Doth England hold no pet Campagna, teeming With deadly fogs? the Legate should breathe such. You comprehend. GARDINER. May heaven be merciful To sinners ! Justice must be executed : Else were the throne a ball of emptiness For every knave to kick. PHILIP. You are quick-witted. I like you well. What of the heretick Bishops? 240 MARY TUDOR. [ACT III. GARDINER. Why there, my liege, my argument hath pros- pered. PHILIP. Her hand if once with blood incarnadined She’ll love it as the henna dye is loved In Moorish harems. To your tasks. Sir Bishops ! [Exeunt. Scene IX. Palace Court , Whitehall. Enter Underhill and Doctor Sandys. UNDERHILL. Where loitered you, my friend, when, yestereve, We held our revels on the banks of Thame P SANDYS. The grave-yard's gloom, where slaughtered Chris- tians sleep, Was better for my purpose, and my mood, Than timeless mirth, godless festivities. O Underhill ! UNDERHILL. Remember; to make sure, SC. IX.] MARY TUDOR. 241 We must prepare the way. Elizabeth, If Mary die, is our true hope. To swell Her triumph, was to smooth her upward path. SANDYS. Whence comes this favour long delayed ? UNDERHILL. 'Twas thus. You prophesied aright. Philip controls, Derides, the Queen : as this new persecution Demonstrates. Fearful tales creep through the Of which hereafter. SANDYS. You beheld the pageant. How looked the Princess — P say. UNDERHILL. Her royal barge Was garlanded with flowers, festooned around An awning of green satin, richly broidered With eglantine and buds of gold. The bright one Beneath this canopy reclined in state. Fairer than Cleopatra with her Roman. Her royal sister on the bowery shore Of Richmond met her, kissing her Tween whiles ; Her wan cheek flushing to a healthier glow. With hospitable care, and love, she led R 242 MARY TUDOR. [ACT III. Elizabeth, to where, shrined in green leaves And flowers, a tent, curtained with cloth of gold, And purple samite, stood ; whose folds were wrought With silver fleur de lys, and gold pomegranates. The music they so love breathed in their ears. Like amorous blandishment : and when the morn Rippled along the wave with soberer ray The Princess stept once more into her barge, And floated down the current, like a swan. SANDYS. God's blessing on her ! hope of this poor land ! UNDERHILL. King Philip’s hateful eye loved not the scene. I marked his sidelong glance, with half-shut lids ■ Averted, soon as marked. The Queen, at parting, Whispered, I know not what, through tearful smiles : — They seemed to say “Hail heiress of my King- dom !” And proud was she that day of her fair sister. SANDYS. When last I saw the princess she seemed worn, With watchfulness. UNDERHILL. But she hath triumphed now SC. IX.] MARY TUDOR. 243 O’er slander. Philip too is most observant — But that is dangerous. A noble creature Is she, in faith ! the fiery spirit sparkles From her large eyes, whether in joy or anger. Her carriage stately and regardant, firm As a soldier, fearless in the midst of danger. She stood like Pallas mid the fabled Gods ! SANDYS. O man with boyhoods heart ! UNDERHILL. Hear me. In her Study hath wakened wisdom. She is bold In counsel, as enlightened ; clear, discerning, Magnanimous, authoritative ; yet ever Most gracious in demeanour. She will be The glory of her time. Soft — here comes Gardiner. Fly, Sandys, fly- — even I am perilled by him. [ Exeunt . 244 MARY TUDOR. [ACT III. Scene X. Chamber in the Cardinal's House. Pole, solus. CARDINAL. I am sick to death of these perplexed intrigues — Barbarous devices — lying plots. O God ! Self interest depraves all hearts — a mammon Preaching a spurious gospel ; whereunto Millions bend down the knee. Their gods are gold. They worship those who give them what they crave. Their very piety is mercenary. Besieging saints for their peculiar gain. This measuring all things by one’s proper greed Is the heart’s penury. Utility To these is as the mother of the Gods ! Enter Gardiner and Fakenham. Ay — here comes one! — I sent for you, my lord. Daily these rash enormities augment. GARDINER. My lord, methinks that when the Queen ap- proves — SC. X.] MARY TUDOR. 245 CARDINAL. Consents, Sir: she approves not. Caution Bonner. He is excessive in severities. These burnings must have end : Pll have it so. He doubts my power, my inclination knowing : But he shall find what power a Legate hath, If he provoke me. FAKENHAM. This is seasonable. These words shall save full two and twenty lives. GARDINER. And lose their souls, which earthly pangs might cleanse. CARDINAL. ? Tis well to give men time for penitence. The living, not the dead, most need our prayers. GARDINER. I scarcely think so. Dead, they sin no more. CARDINAL. I have not present leisure to discuss Abstruse points with your lordship. GARDINER. Pardon me. That I suggest, if other than a friend Caught what your Eminence hinted at but now. 246 MARY TUDOR. [ACT III. He might not deem it strictly orthodox. CARDINAL. If any dare accuse, I answer him. Good day, my lord. GARDINER. One word — these Hereticks Wax stout. They scoff our priests — nay call them knaves — Hear that ! CARDINAL. I doubt not there are many knaves. GARDINER. Well, well ! in every house, and way side inn They do revile the sacrament. Prayer, fasting. Are not regarded : but, in lieu thereof. Unseemly riot ; boastfulness, as though No honourable lords with full commission Went softly through the land to mend its man- ners. CARDINAL. Leave the commissioners, my lord of Winton, To patch their crazy vessels where they find them. As for the knaves you blame, put them in the stocks. Good day, my lord, again. [Exit Gar diner .] Alas ! my friend, SC. X.] MARY TUDOR. 247 I faint beneath this burden, staggering blindly From pitfall on to pitfall. The King hates me; This Gardiner would supplant me : the Queen falters. They fire her soul, and terrify at once, Alternating, like double-weaponed Furies, The torch and snake. Alas ! alas 1 for her ! FAKENHAM. I have observed, my lord, your failing strength ; And fancied it were time you left this court, In search of health renewed. It dwells not here. Elsewhere it may. CARDINAL. I seek not earthly blessings. Frail are they as the hands that can dispense them. Shall I ask health from one as sick as I p Life from mere mortals? riches from the poor? Amid a thousand evils that assail us We may find some to pity, whom to help us? Men get but windy words who crave advice : And when fools call their several Joves to aid. In place of logs he sends them hungry storks. FAKENHAM. Alas ! you speak as one forespent with grief. Be roused ! How many watch your eye for cheer ! 248 MARY TUDOR. [ACT III. CARDINAL. The halcyon’s nest was built of thorns — so mine: Floating on restless waters — such my fortunes ! FAKENHAM. Nay, speak not thus. The conference approaches With the protesting Prelates. Who but you Shall justly deal by them — convince and save them P Brace up your mind. CARDINAL. These failing limbs forbid ! But I will strive. What load thus weighs me down P On me the stress of many a storm hath leaned, And rested on my steadfastness, as wind That beats in vain some granite ridge which severs The north and south ; nor shakes with any blast. — I have heard of vampyre poisons, that can lull. Even as — unworthy thought ! Pll not suspect. FAKENHAM. For the Queen’s sake, for England’s, droop not now. CARDINAL. The clouds of night droop round our fated House ! Planta^enet and Tudor soon will be Unheeded names. Earth passeth from our grasp : May heaven be sure ! — A sudden sunburst ! — Lo ! SC. X.] MARY TUDOR. 249 God’s Image in our heart is as yon orb Unto the universe; the eye of nature, Dispersing rays more eloquent than tongues ; Beams that give life, as well as light : whose ab- sence Wraps in cold shadow all that moves and breathes. At times that Image walks through spheres re- mote ; Unobvious to the largely wandering eye — Then night-mare darkness sits upon the soul: Then, by its own shade mantled, waits the soul, Like some dark mourner, lonely in his house. But the harmonious hours fulfil themselves; And sunrise comes unlooked for, peak to peak Answering in spiritual radiance — This is indeed. So palpably to meet Divinity, That hence the Pagan erred, not knowing God. — But, my good Fakenham, I called you hither For conference, not sermons. Let us retire To my more private closet ; and prepare Our thought for combat with the schismatick. [. Exeunt . ACT IV. Scene I. The Queen's Closet . Queen alone . QUEEN. T J OW great were man without his appetites — -*• The sensual impulses that brand our nature ! Then were we all intelligence like Angels; And the enlarged developement of mind Might grapple with eternal verities; And virtue be, once more, a primal instinct. [ She takes a paper from a table . — Why did I leave thee there — thou basilisk — To fascinate mine eyes? — again I read thee — O insult upon insult! shame on shame! What gibbeted in ballads? get thee gone ! [_Flings it aside . Though 'twere the last time, Philip, we must meet : And my despairing cry shall reach thee yet ! [ Rests her head on the table. SC. I.] MARY TUDOR. 251 Enter Margaret. QUEEN. Is it the King ? — speak quickly — comes he not ? MARGARET. The Chancellor ; may it please you. QUEEN. It cloth not please. Yet hold — I must concentrate thought — recall him ! — This dreaming while awake is dangerous : I must eschew it; or I shall act dreams; — Enter Gardiner. And so men think me mad — All postures tire. Pll sit me down. This chamber is too small For one long used to pace and muse. I love To talk in exercise — come you from the King? — Build me some gallery full of light and air — Your purpose? — speak! speak! speak! gardiner \kneeling\ With your permission, A letter from the Pope, touching my lord The Cardinal. QUEEN. The Cardinal? — fly, Margaret, 252 MARY TUDOR. [ACT IV. And call my friend. Wait till he come. [Apart .] This friendship Doth like a thoughtful builder, course by course, From a firm base upraise a superstructure That should endure through time. The fiery passion Without distinction feeds on flowers and weeds : But friendship, is select, considerate; Needs concord of the Reason — I am watched ! [Aloud.'] My lord of Winton, what do you here unbidden ? GARDINER. I have stated, under pardon, that I hold Despatches from his Holiness, wherein — QUEEN. Now I remember. But the Cardinal Must be in presence. Bishops can backbite — wel- come ! Enter Cardinal. My hand — no! no! it smells of blood! good Man, Thou shalt not kiss it! cardinal. Daughter, calm yourself : Your pleasure? Good my lord of Winton, speak : Hath any evil chanced P SC. I.] MARY TUDOR. 253 gardiner [aside]. Missives from Rome ; Which touch your Eminence: she knows them not. QUEEN. Speak to your errand. GARDINER. May it please your Grace, His Holiness, hereby, recalls the Legate ; And summons him to answer certain charges. QUEEN. What means the Pope ? Are we not Queen ? For- gets he Our father? what ! — recall the Cardinal, Our cousin, counsellor; our leave unasked? GARDINER. The Cardinal Peyto shall attend your Grace, Duly deputed with legantine powers. QUEEN. Who is this Peyto ?- — poor, Franciscan friar ! — Legate to us in place of royal Pole ? What is Pole's crime ? the King he serves, and Us, And People, as becomes an Englishman. This Pope maltreats me. We have, in all things, laboured To serve the Apostolick See. What dangers Shall not this Pole’s departure loose on England ? 254 INI ARY TUDOR. [ACT IV. It is as though you took from a sick soul Its best physician. Sir, he shall not go ! CARDINAL. Some old spite rankles here. No Pope before E’er dealt with trusted Legate thus. Some charge Should be set forth, before recall. He knows not A colourable fault, or he had named it. QUEEN. You shall not go — that's flat : nor Peyto come ! Without circumlocution tell them so. Passion o' God ! we'll not be trifled with ! CARDINAL. My duty as a subject binds me here To your Grace's will : but to his Holiness Ecclesiastical subordination Compels me to respect his interdict, No more a legate. QUEEN. I will have no other. Let's talk of something else. Lord Chancellor, Touching this thing, remember we prohibit The promulgation of the Papal Bull. And now I do bethink me, let our Attorney Enquire how far the Papal jurisdiction Affects this realm. Methinks his Holiness SC. 1.] MARY TUDOR. 255 Hereafter more advisedly shall use us. [Exit Gardiner and Pole . No words upon’t : retire ! — O Margaret ! Sweet cousin, pity me! I am stung and scourged With piled indignities. But — did not He — My Saviour, meekly wear his thorny crown? Why should I murmur? MARGARET. Madam, peruse his Word : And it shall be thy comfort. QUEEN. Hush ! you know not All you dare think. Beneath the soul there sleep The founts of a great Deep. Unseal them not — Retire, fair girl : I long for silent thought. \_Exit Margaret. \_She paces about : then stops before a veiled picture. To thee I turn ; and not the Virgin Mother ! Forgive me, Heaven! thou canstnot hear, O Philip, My secret sighs : blind art thou to my weeping. Yet I would kneel to thy insensate image. And plead for pity. Never, never breathed A wife more fond and faithful ! philip [entering. Wherefore thus ? 256 MARY TUDOR. [ACT IV. Rise from thy grovelling — I help thee not. QUEEN. Great God of heaven ! look down and judge ! PHILIP. How, Madam P Do you impeach me? what is your complaint? QUEEN. Strengthen me. Thou, Almighty One ! for I Am very weak and miserable. PHILIP. Well : Ere I go hence, you have besought this visit. My horse is at the gate, pawing the air ; Impatient, like his master, to be gone. My sail is on the sea : fair blows the wind : Prithee, detain me not. QUEEN. If not a heart, Have you no conscience? PHILIP. For my confessor. Alphonse de Castro looks to that. QUEEN. Yet, Sir, You countenance the foreign ribaldries That offer shame to our pure manners. MARY TUDOR. 257 SC. I.] PHILIP. Prude ! Go to ! We, Southrons, know the hottest fires Smoulder beneath the mountain capped with snow. Vesuvian lava sleeps in English bosoms, Pure though they seem. QUEEN. No such retort you ventured To my chaste maiden, Lady Magdalene ; Who smote you, as a Dacre knows to smite, When with licentious arm you clasped her waist. PHILIP. I warrant you an Amazon ! P faith ! My error was to judge her by her name; Deeming she might have earned it. QUEEN. This to me ? PHILIP. Ay, most discreet of dames! and what’s to thee The carriage of your ladies P watch your own. QUEEN. I guard my ladies’ honour as mine own. PHILIP. Then guard yourself. s 258 MARY TUDOR. [ACT IV. QUEEN. I stand in the open day, A Queen, a loyal wife, before all eyes. While you, Sir, rove at night, and give occasion For losel scandal. piiilip. Ha 1 indeed ? — who dares Whisper of Philip to his wife? QUEEN. No whisper ! See here — a ballad jest — “ How the King likes The baker’s daughter in her russet gown Better than Queen Mary without her crown” — PHILIP. ’Sdeath ! — I could stab the knave who — QUEEN. Stab this heart — No more your pillow. I would gladly die ! PHILIP. Talk you thus, Madam, with the Cardinal? QUEEN. O, Philip ! I have never breathed my grief Into another ear. PHILIP. With Pole your counsels Are long — and private. MARY TUDOR. 2-59 sc. i.] QUEEN. Truest — holiest friend ! PHILIP. In Spain we hold these pious — counsellors. Ticklish companions in a lady’s chamber. QUEEN. What is your drift, my lord P PHILIP. O nothing — nothing ! I am not jealous of you, my good Queen : Though you to me have hazarded plain words. Nay, lady, ’tis not that I trust the nature Of any woman : hut I trust experience. A fast of forty years is wholesome practice ! QUEEN. Begone ! I must hear insult — I am helpless — But you pollute my chaste mind with your gibes. It is enough. I know my fate. Begone ! Philip [ after regarding her for some time , scornfully ]. For ever! [He turns from her suddenly and goes . QUEEN. [alone], I submit to God’s decree ! Was it for this my maiden liberty Was yielded? — to be spurned — despised — and still 260 MARY TUDOR. [ACT IV. Bear on without redress? O grief! O shame! [ She approaches the picture of Philip. Back, silken folds! that hide what was my joy, And is my torture ! Back ! — See, I have rent you — False, senseless idol, from thy tinselled frame. I wrench thee forth — I look on thee no more ! And thus — and thus — [S/i£ tears up the picture. I scatter thee from out The desecrated temple of my heart ! — \_A pause . My brain is hot — this swoln heart chokes my throat. Yet am I better thus than self-deceived. Die, wretched Queen ! O die, dishonoured wife ! I pant for the cold blessing of the grave ! Scene II. The Hall of Lambeth. Procession of Prelates, folloived by Nobles , fyc. PEMBROKE. Well, Oxford, what says Cranmer ? Will he bide The penalty ? OXFORD. Marking his vacillation, I should say no : but ay, if well provoked. SC. II.] MARY TUDOR. 261 PEMBROKE. Here come they — Latymer, the lion, first. Nor he, nor Ridley, quail : these look like martyrs. The Queen ! [ The Queen passes , attended. OXFORD. Good God ! how changed ! Speak, Underhill — You serve beside her Grace. Is not this sudden P UNDERHILL. My lord, she is dying. OXFORD. Why her surgeons say She soon will have an heir. UNDERHILL. It is delusion. PEMBROKE. You, I believe, have served her since her child- hood ? UNDERHILL. I knew her when a girl : and not Jane Grey, Whom she resembled, in her prime was fairer. Then grief and passion had not stamped their hoofs On her high brow: and her acquirements answered The intellectual promise. Small of stature. Her form was symmetry; her face well shaped, 262 MARY TUDOR. [ACT IV. With features feminine, perhaps too grave. Her penetrating eye was to be feared. Large, dark, intent. Iler voice was musical ; Albeit at times too piercing ; her rich hair A golden brown, like sunshine on a chestnut: Her full, red lip ripe ever to pettishness. OXFORD. This is not Mary now : alas ! for pity ! The age she hath attained abates not beauty : But grief drives like a ploughshare thro* its garden. UNDERHILL. I sketched the features of her prime ! ^Tis thus A woman should be shown to after time. OXFORD. A word with thee, good servant. Go to Hatfield : And bid the princess, by the truth forearmed. Be ready for the time — wary of Philip — Above all, bold. PEMBROKE. Now, wait upon the Queen. UNDERHILL. We are in charge, my lords, that none shall pass Save the Lord Chancellor and Cardinal. PEMBROKE. Pey to or Pole P SC. III.] MARY TUDOR. 263 OXFORD. This Peyto skulks in lanes. Like a proved knave. The Queen denies to see him. PEMBROKE. The less of Rome, the better hope for England. [ Exeunt severally . Scene III. Gallery in Lambeth Palace. Queen, Pole, Gardiner, Cranmer, Ridley, Latymer. GARDINER. We but await your Grace’s word. queen \_after a pause .] The order Of your procedure shall be grave ; the manner Stringent. I shall observe you, though in pain. Should my mind wander, as ’tis apt to wander. Recall attention without ceremony. GARDINER. This is no legal process ; but a test 264 MARY TUDOR. [ACT IV. How far these obdurate men by frank confession May clear their great offence, and spare the fagot. My lord of Canterbury we cite not Till due authority from Rome shall issue. Yet let me pray him seize this precious moment For penitence. You, Latymer and Ridley, Speak : have you ought to urge? LATYMER. I am too old For controversy. I come here to die. GARDINER. With fagot at your beard this is vain glory. Your learning, Sir, is lost. Well — turn in time; And trust her Grace’s mercy. LATYMER. Hope not that. My prayer hath daily been— may the Queen turn ! GARDINER. Oh obdurate ! Hear this ! QUEEN. Proceed with the others. GARDINER. What says the doctor Ridley ? Thou art a man Whose subtile wit would illustrate an Arius. SC. III.] MARY TUDOR. 265 RIDLEY. Say on. We change not. From your coming sentence To God we make appeal. Our names, we trust, Though not of your communion, shall be found Writ in His book of life. LATYMER. I thank my God Most heartily, that He hath thus preserved me To glorify him by this kind of death. GARDINER. You see, my liege, what manner of men these be : — Unmannerly, audacious. What need we more? CARDINAL. Let the Archbishop speak. It is his right. GARDINER. Speak, Thomas Cranmer. CRANMER. First my lords, I pray you. To intercede for me, touching my sin Of treason, which with penitence I own. I am prepared to wrestle, as becomes My sacred calling in my souPs defence. Give me but patient hearing. GARDINER. That is granted. 2 66 MARY TUDOR. [ACT IV. CRANMER. My lords, I doubt the law of your procedure. GARDINER. We act upon commission ; which for us Is full acquittance. Ilereticks despatched, Their friends may sue the law, if so it pleaseth. QUEEN. You go too fast, my lord. I halt behind Your expedite advance. Let law be law. The secular arm is nerveless till conviction At competent tribunals. See to this. RIDLEY. You keep us prisoners, deprived of service, Or free communication with our fellows — GARDINER. Ay ? who be they ? RIDLEY. Our solitude, Tis true, Is little cheered by offices of kindness From brother scholars : but the Poor, unlettered, Have shown us sympathy. LATYMER. My soul, my soul Finds in the prison house a holy cell For meditation. His like a pitcher filled To the brim, with scripture; which so mightily SC. III.] MARY TUDOR. 267 Endows the spirit, that all infirmities Of flesh fall from me. I am strong through faith. CARDINAL. My lord of Canterbury, when you dispute. Observe, the parliament prohibits use Of all suspect translations of the Bible ; And your own book upon the Sacraments. You must rely on writings orthodox. The Fathers such ; and Scripture, as the Church Expounds. CRANMER. In chains I fight not. I deny The truth of your expounding. GARDINER. He doth deny the truth ! Hear, my liege ! CARDINAL. Wrest not his words. What would you say, Archbishop ? CRANMER. I entreat License to utter freely all my thought. *Tis true her Grace mislikes me, and with cause;— That Reformation is her royal province ; — Yet speak I must in duty to my God. 268 MARY TUDOR. [ACT IV. LATYMER. Why speak you not more roundly ? they have scourged Our brethren with their rods; burned them with fagots ; Famished and drowned ; ripped up their buried bodies. And flung to dogs. ’Tis true — these are not lies. — Eyes have beheld — your consciences bear witness! The blood of Abel crieth unto God — And atyourhandsshallbe required! Great Queen, I supplicate you, by a mother’s love, Have pity on your children, spare your people! QUEEN. Fearful old man ! why thus adjur’st thou meP CRANMER. Be temperate, Latymer : this wdllnot serve. LATYMER. Not serve — will it avenge ? QUEEN. Intemperate man ! I press not thee more than I would endure. If right, you are a martyr, worthy heaven : If wrong, deserve no pity. CARDINAL. Had ye been SC. III.] MARY TUDOR. 269 Endowed with judgment equal to your courage. Ye had not missed the mark of genuine greatness. That little which ye lack bewrays your life. RIDLEY. We enter life as on a battle field Where principle must be asserted bravely. This shakes us not — that God with us should deal As with his chosen Captains in old time : Nor yet repine we that our mortal state Partakes the customed penalties of man. GARDINER. You waste the time. LATYMER. He speaks as the time needs ! — The Truth of God ye hide within a cave. Sealed with a seal, and guarded by a guard : But that which died shall live ; and, shining wide On all the white-robed synod of the Saints, Keep, in the face of Christendom restored. Its joyful Passover ! Lords, we defy you ! What should we shrink from who look back on Him — Our Master — whose great sacrifice began When time was as an infant, pure and tearful, And still bleeds on through every martyr’s wound ? He, massacred with Abel; tempest-tost MARY TUDOR. 270 [act IV. With Noah ; bound upon the pile with Isaak; A miracle of patience as in Job; Betrayed with Joseph ; and like Daniel cast Amid the lions — No ! we will not shrink! GARDINER. I’ faith you speak bold words. Can you do boldly ? RIDLEY. There have been men of fearless mind, who dared All, for their Country. One — the Roman — leaped Alive into his grave, earth’s yawning chasm. Shall then a Christian falter in his faith ? — His faith in Him who laid heaven’s crown aside To win immortal palms for those He loved ? GARDINER. Palms — palms? for such as you? Presumptuous fools ! Who scarce can boast the name of Church. RIDLEY. Our Church Is as the grape of Ephraim; better worth Than Abiezer’s vintage. In her pale All wholesome comfort, honest aids are centered. The pleasures she affords are of the soul, Inward, yet shared by all ; perdurable. She spreads no peacock feathers in the sun To lure the eye; nor scatters on the air Sweet odours, to entrap the sense. All blessing 271 SC. III.] MARY TUDOR. She knows included in the Word of God! What are the joys of sense to joys like hers. That grow for ever? — CARDINAL. This is very grievous ! Madam, so please you, these be heated men. Who may not be convinced, and will not bend. With Cranmer I would crave some separate speech. [ Exeunt Ridley and Latymer attended . Cranmer, my friend, you much mistake, believe me. The interest of the Church. The Church is one. And indivisible ; though you have split Her walls, seceding. You should have trained with care, Not rent, the wild shoots of the immortal tree. If sand be mixed with gold, men purge the dross, But change not gold for lead. Work with us, Cranmer ! Say you that things need mending? You but say What pious men within our pale say also. Albeit that task they trust not to base hands. In her own breast the Church retains the cure Of ills that vex her. Men in conference met. Learned and saintly monitors, take counsel ; Whereby all points of difference are settled. 272 MARY TUDOR. [ACT IV. Ay, men must work in concert, and the few Yield to the many, or we’ll see no end. CRANMER. Your words show more the statesman than the churchman. ’Tis not the voice of Rome. CARDINAL. In that you err. The amplitude of Rome hath space reserved Where Freedom may indulge her dreams. How else Our Carmelites, Dominicans, Franciscans? We wink ; they kneel : enough — the Church stands firm. — I can no more. We must not lose this man. Gardiner, strive thou. GARDINER. Commit to me his keeping, And I will strive — CRANMER. To thee? Have mercy, Christ! My vineyard is too near the house of Ahab. gardiner [aside], Ha ! Philip’s word ! CRANMER. O Queen ! my heart is full. And I could prophesy, but I refrain. SC. III.] MARY TUDOR. 273 The bitter cup is brimming: it is enough — We both must drain our portion. Are you happy ? See what has come of my prosperity ! Prosperity P alas ! what part hast thou In real joys — cankered prosperity ? — The conquest of our passions is true joy. Content is joy : and there’s a spiritual joy In converse with our God ; capacity For learning and high art ; and these used rightly In aid of fellow men, and for God’s glory ! But there’s a joy beyond; transcendent, holy; Thejoy when saints take up theirMaster’s cross — • The joy of pain that testifies of faith — Shining abroad, significant of grace. And coming glory ! such as Peter found Upon his cross — Stephen beneath the stones — * Paul in his cavern — Lawrence o’er the flames ! — I have wandered — pardon me ! CARDINAL. We stayed to teach : And have been taught. Thanks for your sermon, Cranmer ! The Queen grows pale : be quick in your retiring. Lean on my arm, my liege. Cranmer, adieu ! We meet again. Would that thy faith were true ! [ Exeunt severally . T 274 MARY TUDOR. [ACT IV. Scene IV. Queen s Closet, Whitehall . Queen and Cardinal. CARDINAL. The silent moth gnaws not more fatally Tissue of gold, than sadness gnaws our heart. Let us apply the moral. QUEEN. Cousin, why blame Me, not my fate ? CARDINAL. Fate? — In your body dwells there An evil spirit, that your life must be A purgatory ? Think you God directs ’Gainst you alone his thunders ? arms ’gainst you His judgments ? O what torture like self-torture! See yourself as I see you, heavy-browed. With troubled eye, and countenance aghast — QUEEN. God made me weak and fallible. CARDINAL, Poor Soul ! Be to yourself more charitable. Think sc. V.J MARY TUDOR, 275 That One there is who answers for your faults, And multiplies your merits. QUEEN, Or I were mad. Hope rests there : CARDINAL. All men are born to suffer. What are the consolations of the Scripture, The fruit of exhortation and of prayer. If now you quail ? No, you shall quail no more. QUEEN. My web of life was woven with the nettle : My very triumphs were bedewed with tears. What now is left? CARDINAL. Religion. As the sunbow Shines in the showery gloom, and makes the cloud A shape of glory, in thy path she stands A herald of high promise. Blessed emblem ! Religion bids thee hope ! This gloomy life Must be amended; we must draw thee hence. QUEEN. Thanks be to God ! time works while we grieve on. Deprive not sorrow of the shade she needs ; The sad quiescence of desponding thought. Job also raised his voice, and wailed aloud, 276 MARY TUDOR. [act IV. And so was comforted. Remember, also. In weeping I can pray : should I not? CARDINAL. Yea. Pray with thanksgiving: ’tis the sum of duty ! QUEEN. Whene’er I turn my thoughts to God, one image Stands between me and heaven. Instead of prayer A sigh for Philip trembles on my lip. CARDINAL. To pine thus for the absent, as men mourn The dead, is sinful. QUEEN. Speak no more of him. Thoughts holier be my guide. You pity one Who twines her heart to the decaying creature, Yet may earn heaven. All earthly vows are light As winds; faithless as ice. I raise my eyes: There find I love enduring — ever loyal ! Ay, loyal ; for the Saviour, through our flesh. Hath bound himself to man’s community; And with immortal garlands, without thorns. Shall crown his chosen. CARDINAL. Hear me. Queen of England! Thus I preach comfort to thee. Live for thy People ! SC. IV.] MARY TUDOR. 277 Make England happy ! It is a noble thing To stablish thrones on bounty ; reign through love : To make the spacious heart of man our kingdom. O’er such a Prince the hand of God shakes forth Blessings like rain on the green lap of Spring. For him no stabber lurks in palace courts: His march is tranquil in the front of battle : Good luck attends his counsels. Prosperous At home, and reverenced in lands remote, All eyes wake for him, and all tongues pray for him : His life shall be a blessing to his people ; And his just memory their rightful dower. QUEEN. But how make good the portraiture? alas ! We cannot pace the avenue to glory, Until with blood its sacred palms are sprinkled. Our churches were baptized with martyrs’ gore. Which holocausts must purge ! CARDINAL. I spake not, daughter. Of glory : I besought thee to be good. The chief of greatness is surpassing goodness: And that outsoars the ken of mortal eyes ; Hidden with God. Yeti would have thee glorious : Radiant with all heroic qualities ; MARY TUDOR. [ACT IV. 278 Magnanimously bent on great designs; Profuse in liberality; sedate Even in devotion ; scrupulously just ; — All this hath Mary been : why not so still P QUEEN. O Reginald ! thou guiding, this might be. To thy pure hands I would confide the staff Now feebly held by the apostate Cranmer. CARDINAL. To speak of him I sought you. QUEEN. First decide: Will you accept this charge? CARDINAL. And Winton curse The hand that doth supplant him? QUEEN. He deserves Promotion : but not thus — cardinal [musing']. He who hath stood Upon the first step of the Papal throne, And vacant left the Vatican, may look With eye undazzled on the chair of Lambeth. QUEEN. The Church requires your service: you must yield it. SC. IV.] MARY TUDOR. 279 CARDINAL. I answer to her call, and yours. A wrong It were to both if Stephen Gardiner made The crozier but a bloody battle-axe. You must spare Cranmer. Hear me. Hehathbeen Your mother’s foe — a false friend to her rival : Therefore ’tis great to spare. But in the main, Though weak, he is good ; ardent in search of truth. Though apt to wander ; generous when not fearful ; Clear-sighted, where self-interest blinds him not. Such men are dangerous, if desperate : We must not make him so — for such make mar- tyrs; And martyrdoms make error popular. QUEEN. I wish not for his death. CARDINAL. But Gardiner wills it : Ay, and will have it, if you be not watchful. Strange things are rumoured of the Council's do- ings While you lay sick. QUEEN. What can I do? CARDINAL. No evil. 280 MARY TUDOR. [ACT IV. That good may follow. Openly remove The heretick prelate by prerogative; And, though most irksome, I will bear bis burthen. QUEEN. I have long thought it strange that you refused The greater honour though the heavier burthen : The proffered crown of Rome. cardinal [after much agitation J. Look not alarmed — [ A pause . Y ou touch the mind’s immedicable wound. — (> God ! that I had died before I knew thee! — Pardon me — pardon me ! QUEEN. We both need pardon. Let us forget the past. God strengthen us ! cardinal. Fear not. Henceforth we gaze upon each other. As the two Cherubim upon the Ark; The living God between! QUEEN. Then take my hand. — It will be colder soon. May God be with you ! [ Exeunt . SC. V.] MARY TUDOR. 281 Scene V. Oxford , interior of a Prison. Cranmer, Ridley, Latymer. RIDLEY. We stand upon the confines of two worlds; Which are as kingdoms in hostility. Here every passion, here all woes are banded ; And from the throne of death an Anarch rules. There infinite peace, beneath the shield of faith ; Angelick knowledge ; immortality ! At length we stoop o’er the dividing ridge. After sore labour. Fear not to descend. Our grievous perils past, all sorrows o’er. The kingdom of our God unfolds ! Hosanna ! LATYMER. Thank God that I have lived to see this day. And bless him from the midst of purging fires! Brother, through God’s grace, we this day shall kindle. Throughout this English land, a light whereby True Faith shall shine for ever. RIDLEY. Praise to Him, Our Strength alone! — Thou art reserved, dear Cranmer — 282 MARY TUDOR. [ACT IV. God give our Captain courage for the fight! CRANMER. My soul is sad. I need your dying prayers. Too prosperous, too dainty in my ways, I have been, for this reverse. The coming doom Shakes me, as shames a soldier of the cross. RIDLEY. Kneel, and pour forth thy fainting spiritin prayer. When we go forth. Think not of what we suffer : But gaze upon the vision of our glory. Till thou shalt long to share it. CRANMER. Not as thine Is my poor heart; but sluggish as my blood Creeps my slow mind. God shapes us wonder- fully ! We seem both formed alike; yet that free spirit Which sparkles in thine eyes looks dull from mine. Are we indeed slaves of our elements P RIDLEY. In truth the moral and the physical Are wondrously compacted : God's good purpose Pervading all. LATYMER. Come, brother; it is time To wean our thoughts from Earth. To prayer — to prayer ! SC. V.] MARY TUDOR, 283 So shall our psalms rise on our flames to Heaven ! Dear Cranmer take our last embrace. Be firm, And faithful to the end! [Exeunt Ridley and Latymer . cranmer [alone]. Incarnate Spirits Of martyrdom ! ye will ascend the pile As Twere Elijah’s chariot : — this poor heart, The while with palpitating terrors tom, 0 cease, ye earthly tremours ! Faith, support me ! Surely I have not called on God aright? — Alas ! alas ! that, knowing well my fault, 1 have not strength to mend it — I will pray ! — [_He retires to a side oriel , kneels , rises, looks from the window. Enter Gardiner, who watches unobserved . cranmer. O God ! was it in kindness or despite They placed me here ? My heart was not prepared To quit, without a pang, this fair, fair world. Look on that breadth of woodland ; breezy hills ; And waters that wind through, like placid thoughts. Here could I live a hermit, praising God : Forgetful of all cares; — the carnal pomps 284 MARY TUDOR. [ACT IV. Of Lambeth ; — court cabals. Go forth, my soul — And commune with the things thou lov’dst in youth. Oh ! is it not a goodly thing to hold Discourse with the great forest, face to face ; Near murmuring waters, with free-warbling birds, And throng of insect life that veils the porch Of the great Temple? Then our souls converse With that Intelligence diffused through all ! — Who thinks of cunning stops, metals or woods, Or the trained finger, when the organ’s breath Blows perfect music through capacious domes? — Our spirit commingles with the spirit of sound. Participant of all its harmonies. Thus penetrates the soul all that is good And beautiful in Nature: drawing from all The flavour and the aliment of joy. How great his goodness, sharing all perfections Among his creatures : — wisdom that proportions Each to his want ! O ! love Him — He is thine — And thou art His! His arms surround — His grace Protects — His liberalities enrich thee !■ — [ Loud shouting outside . I wake — O miserable man ! — behold ! Does God indeed protect thee ? Hark those yells — Great God ! that fearful death ! the most abhorred ! [He beats the ground . SC. V.] MARY TUDOR. 285 Hide me, cold stones ! thou gelid Earth, ope for me ! [ Starts up again . I must look on it — ha ! it drags me forward [ A sudden glare. With a wild fascination — see — they gather Around — a ring of fiends ! — O women ! women ! What brings ye there P — is this a sight ? Pm blasted ! [He reels back. The smoke — breaks off — the flames — O Latymer ! I am very faint — too much ! — I cannot bear it. GARDINER. Nor need you, master Cranmer. In your ear; One little word. [Whispers. CRANMER. Avoid thee, Satan ! GARDINER. Pshaw ! You are to blame. Hard words shall not avail you. But I forgive. You weep away your brains, CRANMER. Gardiner, I am ashamed that you should see A Christian thus. GARDINER. Tut, man ! the bravest soldier Would shake to see a brother roast alive; 286 MARY TUDOR. [ACT IV. Especially, if waiting for his turn. Why, what a fool are you to take your turn ! You will not bear it. You being head of all These hereticks, ay you they’ll torture slowly. Sick fancy shudders to behold thee — blackening And withering mid the coals — and hear thy shrieks — And all so soon ! CRANMER. When, when ? — - GARDINER. Perhaps — to morrow CRANMER. I cannot bear it. I’ll sign — anything ! GARDINER. Then this — go to ! Your hand shakes: take more time. Why men wdll say — No matter what they say, Now it is done. CRANMER. And am I safe P GARDINER. ’Tis likely CRANMER. Is it not certain ? GARDINER. Only probable. SC. V.] MARY TUDOR. 287 But I shall be your friend. Trust not in Pole ! CRANMER. Palter not with me. Why not trust in Pole? I have ever found him gentle. GARDINER. Men are mortal. CRANMER. Pole’s in good health— GARDINER. Yet prophecies go round That he stands foremost on death’s calendar. CRANMER. He shall outlive us both. GARDINER. I think not so. Enough — If you uphold what’s here subscribed, You may be saved. CRANMER. Yet lost eternally ! GARDINER. Possibly both ways, if you so speak to others. We shall see — we shall see ! God keep you, Dr. Cranmer! [Exit. CRANMER. Oh madman ! recreant ! I am lost for ever ! [ Scene closes , ACT V. Scene I. The Queen’s Closet , Whitehall. Enter Queen and Cardinal, cardinal. I TELL you this is wrong; your course is wicked. Ay, wicked — I must speak. O Mary ! shrink not. This duty, trust me, is an agony. queen. Go on, my lord. CARDINAL. Rogers died first: what then 5 Keener Fanaticism from his ashes Sprang up, a new-born Phoenix. Hooper, Ridley, The venerable Latymer ; now Cranmer — You kindle fires to torture dying men : These fires are lighting living hearts. MARY TUDOR. 289 sc. i.] QUEEN. What mean you? Think you I love to kill ? It is — It is — • A terrible duty ! Pole, I cannot sleep : Yet dreams are not more hideous than my thoughts. CARDINAL. Sometimes I hope you know not what fiends do. Armed with your name. QUEEN. I know the men you named Died, obstinate in crime. CARDINAL. The men I named ! The poor, by thousands, perish in your flames ! QUEEN. The poor ! the ignorant ! I slay not these. CARDINAL. Yet these die daily. QUEEN. Would that I were dead ! The faculty of power slips from my grasp : And I remain the servile tool of wrong. Would I were dead ! — It will soon be— What means this? u 290 MARY TUDOR. [ACT V. Enter Gardiner. My lord of Winton. Does the Council doom Our people without warrant from ourself P GARDINER. None but the obdurate in heresy. For this we have our warrant : and no less Will satisfy the Church. To stem the course Of justice. Madam, trust me, shall endanger Your precious soul : — nor would it now avail. The Holy See in this hath masterdom. QUEEN. Mean you to menace ? GARDINER. God forbid ! But one Sits on the Roman throne who knows its rights. QUEEN. Rights P GARDINER. Interdict and excommunication. CARDINAL. Trust me, my lord, the people will not bear These dire severities. GARDINER. We’ll look to that. The people ? — ever preaching of the people ! SC. I.] MARY TUDOR. 29! My lord, if they but budge, we’ll ride them down. CARDINAL. I shame to hear you. GARDINER. Wherefore ? CARDINAL. They are men ! What fills your treasury? The people’s hands; Which labour at the loom, the plough, the helm. What nerves your power? The thews of common men. Ye can transmute the peasant’s blood to gold : Refine his sweat to silken sheen and gems. What then to you is basis of all gain ? The poor serf’s heart, who smiles amid his labours, And kisses every hand that spreads his dole ; — Yet, roused by wrong, in blindness of his strength, Can pull the pillars of your temples down In righteous ruin. QUEEN. Pole, thou speakest well. GARDINER. Under your leave, my liege, his Eminence Speaks scholarly, not practically, well. Wise sayings are the playthings of the wise. 2!)2 MARY TUDOR. [act V. As abstract propositions, in their closets. Men sport with maxims which, in act, would peril Their heads, and shake down kingdoms. QUEEN. Let this cease. You named but now the Archbishop. He is safe In recantation. GARDINER. He retracts the same. CARDINAL. Not so. Renewed persuasion binds him faster. GARDINER. I say the recreant shall retract once more. When urged by hope, not fear, CARDINAL. A weak, good man. GARDINER. *Twere well to test this instability. Therefore, upon the ground of his backsliding. He shall be thoroughly probed. QUEEN. No torture. Sir ! GARDINER. None- — surely none — save torture of the mind. Your meaning P CARDINAL, MARY TUDOR. 293 SC. I.] GARDINER. Simply thus. He hath relapsed: And therefore merits death. With due permission, I purpose to prepare him for the stake : The fear whereof will madden him. We, then, May hint — that if he shall profess repentance, From the high pulpit of Saint Mary’s church, The doom he hath incurred may be remitted. Their leader’s palinode shall scandalize His faction sorely. What says my lord to thisP CARDINAL. You study the sage Florentine. Your scheme Is worthy Macchiavelli, and his “ Tyrant.” GARDINER. The scholar will break out ! You better suit The cloister than the court. Time presses, Madam. CARDINAL. Madam, you speak not. Then ’tis time I go. QUEEN. Desert me not. CARDINAL. Desert not thou thyself. I have once spoken plainly — tw 7 ice to speak Is once too often, when we speak in vain. [Exit Cardinal. 294 MARY TUDOR. [ACT V. GARDINER. [Vow think, and act, as shall become a Queen; Knervated no more by this man’s folly ! QUEEN. Presume not thou to slur the Cardinal. GARDINER. My liege, the time hath come when duty forces Words from my lips which may affect my life. Slay me, but hear me first : hear the King’s voice — The word a husband speaks; who will renounce you, (In this I speak commissioned) if unheeded : The word the Church, through me, her minister. Pronounces; which can excommunicate (I speak commissioned) all who disobey: Idle word our venerable law declares. Saying, the Sovereign who abandons duty (I speak commissioned still) forfeits the rights Accorded to her by her subjects’ oaths; Then when her oath gave pledge reciprocal. [He kneels. You are moved ! O blame me not or strike me dead — The death were welcome that might win you back To the right path, whence if you now depart You perish. SC. II.] MARY TUDOR. 295 queen [_much agitated ]. I will do what you judge best. GARDINER. Nay what the Council judge — then you are safe. [Exeunt. Scene II. Hatfield House . Enter Elizabeth, Winchester, Pembroke, Oxford. ELIZABETH. A curse is cn this kingdom ! Each new day Comes with tie stamp of blood upon its forehead. And though pale faces lurk ’neath smiling masks. The hot heart palpitates for retribution. My sister’s miseries are manifest: Yet still the ro^al monster who deserts her Pules through lis myrmidons. In vain doth Pole His nobler counsels urge. WINCHESTER. Our hope lay there — In our great enemy — ’tis marvellous MARY TUDOR. 296 [act V IIow little Pole’s commanding mind and will Avail this day for England. OXFORD. He is cramped. Within the jealous precinct of a court Large energies like his lack room to move. Pole cannot act with others. Men like him Bear sway alone ; or lie like stranded snip. That hears the clarion of the seaward wind, And waves no pennon. ELIZABETH. His ambition dead, (For he has touched the summit and foregone it) He fights with the left hand ; and fwn his work His heart is absent. WINCHESTER. Also his body fails him. ELIZABETH. The silver voice of Fakenham pleads in vain. Philip commands ; Bonner inveighs ; at hand Is wily Gardiner’s whisper. Shal we wonder If thus assailed, sapped, stung, ner sick heart yields P We wonder not ; but — let the vord bespoken — Shall we submit ? I PEMBROKE SC. II.] MARY TUDOR. 297 WINCHESTER. Ridley and Latymer Have perished : Cranmer, ere another day, Dies too. Speak Madam ! Shall the plague be stayed P ELIZABETH. I scarcely understand your aim, my lords : — Perhaps I misconceive. What would you have ? PEMBROKE. Elizabeth for Queen ! OXFORD. You go too far. I would to God her Highness ruled through law- Not in despite ofdaw. The Queen’s distraught. I claimed my right, an audience, hoping little. Yet strenuous. Alas! what found I there? Eyes wandering, thoughts perplexed, a broken voice — The tower of mind down toppling to its earth ! She is half dead — WINCHESTER. Without sign manual No convict dies. OXFORD. What knows she what she signs P Parchments throng round — time presses — Gardi- ner frets — 298 MARY TUDOR. [ACT V. With aching brain she strives to read ; then sighs, And wipes her eyes; and signs. God pardon her! Her faculties are torpid. She will lie Speechless as one that’s dead : then wake with cries, ITer temples swollen with inward pain, teeth gnashing. Her pale lips flecked with foam. WINCHESTER. God pity her! OXFORD. She dreamed to be the giver of new life : But breeds disease, whose issue must be death. WINCHESTER. Is not this persecution a plain fact? OXFORD. Oh those incarnate devils, Gardiner and Bonner ! Flesh bred in murder ! Blame those fiends, not her. And blame your parliament with purse agape ForNoaille’s gold ; and ears for Renard’s guile! I say the Queen’s distraught ; she cannot govern — A regency cures that. PEMBROKE. I love straight ways : Bye paths mislead. Had Richmond grasped at Boswortli SC. II.] MARY TUDOR. 299 Less than a crown, Richard had won the day. ELIZABETH. My lords, I pray you cease. I have ever found The Queen exceeding kind. She spared me once ; When foes maligned me. I will not supplant her : — Nor, were I so disposed, doth the time suit. That time too swiftly comes ; — but heralded By death. Be patient. WINCHESTER. Cranmer loved your Mother. ELIZABETH. Where was his aid in her extremity ? Weak pilot, veering with each shift of wind ! Think you he will recant again ? OXFORD. Not now. ELIZABETH. Then is he doomed. Christ succour his frail flesh ! How can I save a self-abandoned man P No man is safe. All are hemmed in by spies. Men watch while we talk here. Farewell, my lords. [ Exeunt . 300 MARY TUDOR. [act V. Scene III. Oxford , the Queen's Chamber . Enter , toiler , Gardiner. QUEEN. Why stand’st thou gasping thus ? GARDINER. Scarce can I speak. I am well nigh choked with anger and amaze. This smooth, fair-spoken, lying, cringing Cranmer Hath turned upon us, like a boar at bay ! Ay, of a truth, he bared his tusks on us, In such a sort, these gray hairs stood on end. QUEEN. Dares he to tempt us — peril his soul’s safety — Even in the doomster’s grasp P GARDINER. Let me take breath! Heart-sick and brain-sick am I — Miscreant ! traitor ! — We led the arch heretick to Mary’s church ; Trusting that there he would abjure his sin ; And so improve short respite to full pardon. SC. III.] MARY TUDOR. 301 The “nunc dimittis” sung-, we let him mount The step beneath the pulpit ; where he knelt. And wept so piteously, that many, trust me. Shed tears in sympathy ; specially those Who felt most hopeful in his late conversion. But scarce had Doctor Cole his worthy sermon Concluded, in the which he set forth stoutly The heresies of this blind man; expounding How men are tempted, not beyond endurance ; And that his hope, even like the penitent thief Might mount to Paradise ; with many more Like comfortable charges — this, concluded, Cranmer arose, with tearful eyes to heaven. Our hopes stood tiptoe : but, this mumming ended. Did he profess the truth ? Not so ! — Quoth he, “ The time hath passed that I should more dissemble.” And then he swore his conscience pricked him most For his feigned recantation, to save life : And that the hand which signed should burn the first. Then did he ban the Pope : — We stood aghast ! QUEEN. Now, by the God that made me ! — but, go on. 302 MARY TUDOR. [act V. GARDINER. We bade him be a Christian, and submit. But momently be grew more contumacious : Until, our patience gone, we packed him off Unto the stocks. QUEEN. Inveigh against the Pope ? Revile our holy Church? — incite the People? — GARDINER. We wait your pleasure. QUEEN. Let him die the death ! GARDINER. Suspense is torture. He must die ! The state — God’s holy Church — your oath to both demand it. QUEEN. Spurned as a rabid dog — shunned as a leper — Let bis foul ashes scatter on the wind ! So be the violated Faith avenged : Away ! away ! I pant for thy return ! [. Exeunt severally. SC. IV.] MARY TUDOR. 303 Scene IV. A Street in Oxford. Enter Winchester, Oxford, and Pembroke. PEMBROKE. The Princess fails us : let us try the People, Or he is lost. WINCHESTER. Consistency, forsooth ! Stand up to death ! — all for a name — a shadow ! A martyr truly ! Better live a saint ! To die untimely shall not profit him. Nor his disciples. Let him live ; that so Hereafter he may preach. OXFORD. What matters it — Or soon or late ? Our mission here is closed. Duty fulfilled: and when this world fades from us The better dawns. Scandal too much hath fallen Upon the Church by his backsliding once. Be firm, O Cranmer, to the end ! WINCHESTER. I grant you, 304 MARY TUDOR. [ACT V. The trouble of the time requires calm courses. PEMBROKE. Calm courses! Have I challenged on his path That bear, Northumberland, to quail at curs? WINCHESTER. You knew your man, and weighed the times : that bear Fell in your pit — sorely we smote him in it — Marry I spared not! OXFORD. I had no part therein. I scorned the vermin, and withheld from Court. But to the matter. Count not on the people : Tis manifest they side with the old Church. To strike with half a weapon — charge unbacked — Were but scant wisdom. WINCHESTER. We must bide our time. PEMBROKE. Farewell, my lords ! — So be it ! — Sink, good sword In Isis fathoms five — I need you not ! [Exit, flinging away his sword . WINCHESTER. We have chafed our noble friend a whit too sharply. SC. V.] MARY TUDOR. 305 OXFORD. Give the hot horse the rein — he’ll stop when breathless. But what avails complaint. ’Tis time we part. WINCHESTER. Oxford, farewell! Heaven bless tby noble heart. [ Exeunt severally . Scene V. Oxford . A Gallery . Queen, alone. queen. Why comes not Gardiner? — -this is horrible. He tempted me, he terrified, he goaded; — The homicide I fiated is doing — And like the victim I stand shivering here. In the mind’s ague. Hark ! was not that a cry? What do I watch ? — Inexorable minutes. How swift ye speed ! — too late — too late to save ! O mad precipitation of my will ! Even while I speak, the future grows the past ! [a Shouting heard. x 30 G MARY TUDOR. [act V. The shout of thousands, from the scene of death Murmuring hoarsely — what is doing now P Enter Gardiner [staggering feebly]. You come at last — I have waited long — speak — speak ! Hush — that dread sound again ! My temples bu rn Hot as the martyr’s pile. ’Tis doing — Bishop ! The deed you longed for — why not look on it With your red, hungry eyes? The man you hate Even now consumes in his great agony. 0 Cranmer ! See him, as I see him now — His arms flung forth, thus — thus: the tongues of flame Eating into him like Megaera’s vipers ! The agony of hell is in that cry ! It hath gone up before the Son of God Appealing; ay — and we must answer it. Well may you tremble, prelate ! Ho ! some light ! A preternatural shadow falls upon us. 1 shall grow mad — why speak you not, pale wretch ? GARDINER. Pardon ! My voice sticks in my throat. In truth I am very feeble — sick almost to death. SC. V.] MARY TUDOR. 307 QUEEN. Light ! light ! what means this darkness ? Hark ! the voice Of God in thunder ! who hath seen before A cloud like that o’ercast the evening sky P Black as a pall — it grows — it hovers o’er us — A demon’s wing, dun with the soot of hell ! Come hither — nay, you shall come — mark yon glare ! It is not lightning — it abides : not lightning. It grows — look on it — priest of peace ! look on it ! Know you what that betides? I charge you, speak. GARDINER. I can endure no more! \He rushes out. Enter Fakenham. QUEEN. Welcome, good Fakenham ! Speak, I conjure you! let me hear some voice ! FAKENHAM. What can I say? — Thought sickens — QUEEN. While you pause Fancy is busy — anything but silence ! I am nerved to hear the worst. 308 MARY TUDOR. [act V. FAKENHAM. What shall I say ? His death — that white-haired man — had graced a martyr? QUEEN. What did he do — what say ? FAKENHAM. He never shrank From torment — nay, ere the flame reached his body, He stretched his hand forth to it, and there held it— A black and shriveled shape — pah ! I am sick ! — Saying, “ Weak member ! thou hast wrought my sin ; Perish thou first !” QUEEN. I think my senses fail : What more — what more? FAKENHAM. He never breathed a groan ; But bowed his head amid the flames and died. QUEEN. A martyr! ha! ha! martyr — said you not? FAKENHAM. His death became the saints of better days. SC. V.] MARY TUDOR. 309 Enter Margaret Douglas. MARGARET. O my sweet mistress ! QUEEN. What new stroke of horror Fails on us now P MARGARET. Scarce had my lord of Winton Reached his own house, where friends had come to feast. Sudden, as though by lightning, he fell dead. QUEEN. Support me, I am giddy ! FAKE NH AM. Hold her up — Dead ! Gardiner dead ! He hath been sick of late. Yet it is strange. Watch our sad mistress well. [ Exeunt Queen and Margaret . Ay — strange — both die : both — victim, and op- pressor — At the same moment die : and die unshriven. Be masses sung ! — let prayer unceasingly Rise to the throne of God ! — Mediate, good Saints ! Two grievous sinners sleep: may both awake To mercy ! Which needs most? — I am sore dis- turbed. [Exit. 310 MARY TUDOR. [act V. Scene VI. Richmond Place , Queen's Chamber . Queen asleep on a couch , with Margaret Doug- las near her . Enter Cardinal and Oxford. cardinal. I fear I task your friendly aid, my lord ; This fever eats into my bones : I move Feebly and painfully. oxford. Your Eminence Is not so stricken as our mistress yonder. I do begin to fear her end is nigh. cardinal. Our birth is the beginning of our dying ! It matters little when the end shall be. oxford. Much to our woful country. Heaven avert it ! cardinal. To suit one creature, universal laws Are not revoked. Swift be thy homeward voyage, O Mary, to the haven of thy rest! The providential current, followed out, Will lead thee onward to the pleasant sea ; SC. VI.] MARY TUDOR. 311 From cataract and rock devolving smoothly To the great symbol of eternity ; Which, seeming to dispart, links all together. OXFORD. Think you, my lord, King Philip will come back ? CARDINAL. I fear me not. OXFORD. Nor guess a cause? CARDINAL. Tis clear He loves her not. Alas ! he knows her not. Thus thralled, thus masked, in premature decay. Sprung from unworthy slight, care, grief, remorse. OXFORD. He may be jealous. CARDINAL. No ! he does not love ! OXFORD. His natural condition is distrust : His ear needs but some venemous tongue to sting it, And he shall be as dangerous as the abyss. Whose smoke makes dark the sun ! CARDINAL. Alas! alas! 312 MARY TUDOR. [act V. Behold the end. Here lies a great heart blasted ! [He kneels at the couch and kisses the Queen s hand . QUEEN. The Cardinal — O joy ! — How sweet to waken Toward a loved face with a smile ! Whence come you? Why look you sad ? CARDINAL. I came to lighten sorrow. QUEEN. Is the King well? CARDINAL. The King is well, but comes not. QUEEN. Oh me ! when I look back on what I have been ; The strange vicissitudes that marked my way ; 1 shudder for the future. I have been As one who saw some vision in the air Of elemental beauty, which, when grasped at. Vanished : and left instead a grinning devil. Too late I find how far from good Pve wandered. Oh ! never may you feel the agony Which weighs a heart down that hath earned des- pair. You stare at me as one of sense deprived, MARY TUDOR. 313 SC. VI.] Or a sleep-walker crouching o’er a gulf. I am no maniac, Pole, but very wretched. CARDINAL. Why will you judge the worst? prognosticate Nought but disaster ? This is no regal spirit ! It is to be a dastard to complain. QUEEN. There was a time- — O Reginald ! our youth Was not bound down by frosty forms : pray with me ! Pray for me ! — pray for hope ! CARDINAL. There was a time When all your thoughts were to this heart laid open : And then to comfort your’s was joy to mine. Methought God gave you, as I prayed for you — Now graver state, stern duties interpose; And reverence chains down favour. QUEEN. God ! thou knowest What, under better guidance, I had been. Marvels perplex ; torments, despised while suf- fered. Master the spirit ; blind forebodings mock us : And, though the eye marks not, the inner soul. 314 MARY TUDOR. [act V. Trembling, responds to outward influences. Therefore I deem this shadow on my mind The skirts of that dark pall which swathes my for- tunes. CARDINAL. This from a Christian? Enter Lord Wentworth, Governor of Calais, QUEEN. Hold ! if I read aright A face of woe, this justifies my fear, Why come you, Wentworth, from your precious charge ? WENTWORTH. Woe’s me ! my charge is lost. Calais hath yielded. QUEEN. What man — art mad ? unsay thy tidings, traitor ! Calais, the brightest gem of Harry’s crown ! Our badge on France’s cap — our sallyport To his rich manors ! O dishonoured Queen ! Talk not to me of patience — speak of vengeance, Or I shall madden. WENTWORTH. Hear a little further. The King hath triumphed nobly at Saint Quentin. The Spanish infantry there pushed the French SC. VI.] MARY TUDOR. 315 From a fair field ; and took their Constable, The famous Montmorency, and the Rhinegrave, Montpensier, Longueville and Gonzaga; Leaving the son of Bourbon, duke of Enghien, Young Roche du Maine, and others, men of note, Dead on the field. QUEEN. And this. Sir, you call comfort : That Spanish swords are flushed with victory While our’s are doomed to rust, our banners drooping. In the aisles of Notre Dame. O shame ! where sleep The destriers that swept the field of Spurs ! Degenerate daughter, thou should’st have died and left The sceptre to a man — More grief— more shame P Enter Lord Paget. PAGET. My liege, scarce had the late King's counterfeit Been captured, when another knave sprang up. Assuming the false name of Exeter : Who straight made proclamation, by the style Of the seventh Edward : daring audaciously Therein to call your royal sister Queen, And his affianced wife. 316 MARY TUDOR. [ACT V. QUEEN. O heavy day ! The old wound bleeds afresh. Spare me, good God! PAGET. How will’s your Grace to deal with these? QUEEN. Who knows:not The punishmentof traitors? Smite their necks — As they have smit this heart! Not for myself — Not for myself, thou knowest O God, I strike — But for my country , bleeding through my wounds ! Enter Lord Howard of Effingham. I see disaster couched within thine eye. Speak on — speak out. LORD HOWARD. The Scot hath passed the border, In swarms, devastating our lands, defiling Our household honour; slaughtering our babes! Mary [springing up]. Bring forth my chariot, and my battle horses ! Princes should head their armies, and partake i The peril they provoke. The cry of war Renerves my vigour. From my couch of pain See, I have leaped, and flung my staff away. SC. VI.J MARY TUDOR. 317 Even as the cripple at the voice of Christ ! CARDINAL. He is a God of peace. Link not his name With thoughts of strife. QUEEN. God is the God of battles ! And rides forth in the vanward of His chosen. Marvels he wrought in the old time by the hands Of his anointed. Bring my regal helm — And panoply of mail : and redcross shield. I will go forth like Miriam, and hymn The triumph of the Lord before His people! Down-trampled Treason in the mire shall writhe Like a crushed adder. We shall spurn the Scots ; And lash the hounds of France back to their ken- nel — To horse — I cry aloud ! oxford | "aside]. Obstruct her not. This passion must have way. Already, mark you, Her power collapses. cardinal. Fearful *tis to witness This conflict of fierce wrath with corporal weak- ness — Thus devils rebuked, rend, ere they leave, their vic- tims. 318 MARY TUDOR. [act V. QUEEN. T am very faint. Bring me a cup of water. Time was — but it is gone : Time is — swift pass- ing : Time comes — but no reality for me ! I have reigned — I am lost ! Let me die ! CARDINAL. Break not — break not our hearts — Better the rage That nerved you at the first. QUEEN. Dear Reginald ! We both are bound for death : which first I know not. I shall not see the end : but what that end I know. The spirit of prophecy is o’er me. Cloud after cloud, great woes come frowningon : A nation’s wreck — the bloody death of Kings. Call not, O Reginald, this mood despair. That I have done with earth, and sigh for peace. Need waken no man’s wonder. Not disease — Hearts of good cheer might conquer that — but grief, Remorse, shame, strike me with stern gauntlets down : While daily cares, petty anxieties, Fret me to madness. SC. VI.] MARY TUDOR. 319 CARDINAL. Great of soul wert thou. And strong of heart, till now. Be so again. QUEEN. The strength of England, in my heart till now Concentred, melting, leaves me but myself — Sum up my personal life. You knew me first, A daughter, witness of her mother’s wrongs — A daughter, conscious of her father’s crimes — A princess, shorn of her inheritance — A lady, taunted with foul bastardy — A sister, from her brother’s heart estranged — A sister, by a sister’s hand betrayed — A rightful queen, hemmed by usurping bands — A reigning queen, baited by slaves she spared — A maid betrothed, stung by the love she trusted — A wedded wife, spurned from the hand that won her — A Christian, reeking with the blood of martyrs — And now, at length, a hated tyrant, dragging Her People to unprofitable wars; And from her feeble hold basely resigning The trophy of long centuries of fame. I have reigned — I am lost — let me die! CARDINAL. Is Calais worth these pangs? Ineptitude 320 MARY TUDOR. [act V. Hath lost what valour shall regain. QUEEN. His gone ! — For ever ! — England’s heritage of glory — When shall her banner wave in France again? CARDINAL. When France outstrips her in the race of crime. QUEEN. Prophetick be thy words ! But I shall lie Forgotten in my grave ere then — Forgotten? Forgotten ! no! Shame’s never dying echoes Shall keep the memory of the bloody Mary Alive in England. Vampyre calumny Shall prey on my remains. My name shall last To fright the children of the race I love. CARDINAL. Daughter, you err ; forgetting in this passion The justice of your Maker. QUEEN. Humbly I own it : Impugning not the ways of Providence Because I suffer. Justly the penalty Of sin is meted to me. CARDINAL. With that thought Consent to peace were easy. SC. VII.] MARY TUDOR. 321 QUEEN. Peace? no peace Till Calais be regained. No peace! my People — All England shouts upon my dying ear. No peace — no peace — till Calais be won back ! CARDINAL. Peace is God’s gift. QUEEN. Calais ! thy name is graven Upon my heart — You’ll find it when I die ! [ Exeunt . Scene VII. St. James’s Palace, Queen s Chamber. Queen, Margaret Douglas, Fakenham. queen. When shall my foot have rest ? You led me first To Hampton Court from Richmond: then you said The banks of Thame were marshy ; and with pain I have crept hither to St James’s towers. Holy the name ! ’Twere well should I die here. Why comes not the lord Cardinal ? FAKENHAM. Too weak He is to move. Slow fever racks his limbs. Y 322 MARY TUDOR. [act V. QUEEN. Our fates are strangely linked. We'll die together. I have so dreamed before. Have you no news ? MARGARET. Yes, madam, heavy news. The Emperor — QUEEN. Is dead P I know it ere you answer. Blest Is he to be released from worldly cares, And public calumny ; his dying ears Soothed by the prayers of saintly men ; his limbs By holy hands composed ! — Who is it that comes ? Enter Count de Feria. I see not plainly. MARGARET. Count de Feria. count [ kneeling ]. I seek your Grace with missives from the King. QUEEN. Will he not come to soothe a dying woman? COUNT. Pressing emergencies of state constrain him. He prays your Grace to wear this jewelled ring, In pledge of amity : and bids you live In cheerful hope of bodily amendment. QUEEN. I shall not trouble him long. There is no hope. SC. VII.] MARY TUDOR. 323 COUNT. And if there be no hope — which God forefend !— He owns the Princess as your proper heir. QUEEN. This gives me joy unlooked for. Tell him, good F eria, I pledge him as he hopes for God’s reward, That he, w r hen I am gone, unto my People Shall prove himself a father in his care ; A brother in his love : and, furthermore. In his great power a frank and ready friend Unto my heir. Take this, a precious diamond, His father’s gift — and this, his own dear pledge — These bid him keep — in memory of the Dead. It pleased not God that I should leave behind me A pledge of my affection — I am choked With strange emotions — I must speak no more Of this — nor Philip — Pardon my wanderings ! — O Virgin Mother! intercede for one Whose thoughts — thus on the threshold of thy glory— Still earthward turn — FAKENHAM. You are exhausted, daughter. Haply you might have sleep, if we retired. MARY TUDOR. [act V. 324 QUEEN. The last sleep comes ! Call in my gentlewomen — Let no strange hand profane my poor remains. O heavy eyes! O fluttering heart I the hour Is come that wafts you to eternity ! Where are you, Fakenham ? Go not — FAKENHAM. I am here. QUEEN. I thought you gone, not seeing well. Some cor- dial — For somewhat I have still to say. Where are you P MARGARET. We are, and shall be, near you. QUEEN. Give me your hand — Why not my sister’s hand P Ah, poor Jane Grey ! She was to Edward, while he died, a sister. I am a sinful creature — bless you, sister ! — I would have speech with Pembroke. MARGARET. He is gone To Hatfield. QUEEN. Winchester? FAKENHAM. He, too, is gone. SC. VII.] MARY TUDOR. 325 QUEEN. Deserted on my deathbed ! — Yet not so — Dear friends,, how many of ye still cling round me ! I am content. In truth, the agony Is not what I had feared — Why this is nothing. Be satisfied — I do not fear to die : And, to say truth, have long time wished to die. The mist that brooded o’er the face of things Is lifted. Death is sent to make us sane. — Bear to my cousin Pole— friend of my youth — My last, last blessing. If he live, I charge him To watch my sister with exceeding love. If he be bound for heaven, his orisons Shall plead for her he loved — too well — too sadly — * Before the all-seeing Judge. Take these, my jewels — And that best gift of earth, a deathbed blessing, Unto my sister. Not to strongly rule This kingdom, (for I know, and fully trust Her noble intellect) but fondly rule it, Leaving the issue of her cares with God, I supplicate, and warn her. For religion, I know she is no Puritan ; yet fear She stumbles in her faith. At least, I pray her, To be to others, as I was to her. 326 MARY TUDOR. [ACT V. Indulgent. Let my debts be justly paid — And from my goods endow an hospital For worn out soldiers. Re-en do w three convents For the Observants, and, at Schene and Sion, For charitable watching of the Poor. No more — my breath comes painfully — dull sounds Murmur around — Bury me with my Mother — Raise tombs of honour — to our memory — And grave on mine — the motto I have loved — Prophetick — may it prove — Time unveils Truth ! FAKENHAM. Her last words ! — her lips quiver — her eyes close — Hold up the cross ! she sees — she — smiles — she dies ! [ The Queen dies. Enter Oxford and Underhill. FAKENHAM. Too late you come, my lord — all that remains Of Mary Tudor sleeps till the last trumpet ! Plow fares the Cardinal ? OXFORD. He too is gone. Some one brought rumour that the Queen was dying— SC. VII.] MARY TUDOR. 327 Whereat he suddenly grew pale ; then smiled ; And cried, in act of death, “ Receive my soul ! — Together we will rise to our Redeemer !” FAKENHAM. So, at our need, hath perished our last hope ! For first in worth, as place, was he in council; And knew so well the interests of the State Were with God’s law entwined, that he became Restorer of Religion ; and made perfect The shattered superstructure of the realm. — What birth, outside the purple, was so glorious As his, whose sire and mother both derived Their lineage from the throne? The Church’s champion, He of her sons was the most moderate. His learning was profound ; his heart all bounty. F rom youth he shunned the world. The privacy Of rural life, pure air, the quiet stars, Enamel’d meadows, breath of woods and streams — At these, the breasts of Nature, he imbibed Devotion — and so nursed his soul for heaven. He travelled through that land whose names are story ; Beheld Rome’s wonders ; spiritually tasting The intellectual flavour of an age Whose noblest were his mates in after time. 328 MARY TUDOR. [act V. When Harry probed him touching the divorce, lie lashed the royal vice, and woke its fury : But God was his protection. Long he lived A voluntary exile; watchful, studious. Behold him next, a Cardinal, at Trent, Presiding o’er the Council: then at Rome, Refusing the great Christian bishoprick : At Mentz, once more, a mild recluse ; his soul To letters, which he loved, and pious needs, Devoted : and at last, recalled to England ; Restorer of the Cross 1 OXFORD. Amid the torrent Of manifold opinions stood the Queen ; A rock, whose firm-fixed base defied all floods. God set her on the throne of his own tower : And, in his mercy, sent this Cardinal To strengthen and to guide her. FAKENHAM. His was not The tactique of the soldier : he advanced His counsel with persuasion ; ever suing The royal heart for merciful awards; While sterner men, or weaker, frowned or wavered. OXFORD. We have beheld these lights — but not preserved them; 329 SC. VII.] MARY TUDOR. Now quenched for ever ! FAKENHAM. England ! my poor country ! Soiled with impiety, and blood of martyrs ; Shall Henry’s sin never be expiated ? Shall his blind passions through our pangs be punished ? His blasphemies entail persistent error P The limit and far scope of evil deeds God metes alone, who metes their punishment. Man has but to revere while he submits ! OXFORD. If ever victim to a broken heart Hath died, she lies before us. Awful Queen ! Hardly of thee Posterity shall judge — For they shall measure thee — UNDERHILL. Let me speak. Sir ; For I have known, and been protected by her. When fierce men thirsted for my blood. I say not That she was innocent of grave offence ; Nor aught done in her name extenuate. But I insist upon her maiden mercies. In proof that cruelty was not her nature. She abrogated the tyrannic laws Made by her father. She restored her subjects 330 MARY TUDOR. [act V. To personal liberty ; to judge and jury ; inculcating impartiality. Hood laws, made or revived, attest her fitness Pike Deborah to judge. She loved the Poor : And fed the destitute : and they loved her. A worthy Queen she had been, if as little Of cruelty had been done under her. As by her. To equivocate she hated : And was just what she seemed. In fine she was In all things excellent while she pursued Her own free inclination without fear ! [ The curtain falls . THE LAMENTATION OF IRELAND AND OTHER POEMS. TO THE RIGHT HON. MAURICE FITZGERALD, KNIGHT OF KERRY, THE “ LAMENTATION OF IRELAND” IS INSCRIBED. T HOU noblest relic of a noble race. Proud Geraldine of Kerry ! with a grace And chivalrous expression, like a tower. The last, lone, beacon of baronial power— Thou risest o’er my memory, and long Shalt live there, shrined within the heart of song. Once more thy lofty port and spiritual eye. Like some embodied dream of chivalry. Salute to me ; and thine accents on mine ear Swell, as when bending senates pause to hear. Once more I see thee, in thy gentler hour, Embosom’d in thine own sequester’d bower. Even as a wild-bird in its happy nest. With all thy young ones clinging round thy breast ; 334 TO MAURICE FITZGERALD. And that fair wife, so fondly at thy side, Watching the picture with maternal pride; And hailing through a trance of smiles and tears, The dawning hope of visionary years. Maurice ! it is not friendship, nor the strain Of kindred mingling in our household vein, But'tis thy worth, and that such thoughts suit well The tenor of the tale I have to tell, That draws this language from me. It is due Doubly from me, though not required by you. Hear then, my friend — for now, with trembling fingers Thy bard proceeds, yet oft looks back, and lingers : And as a youth first stepping into life, (His guileless bosom throbbing in the strife Of doubt and hope) looks round with bashful eyes, The conscious blood still answering each surprise ; And feels upon his cheek, and fain would flee, Those blushing messengers of Modesty — Even so, perhaps, but with a paler look. And saddened heart by sad misgivings shook, Thy poet's eye, awakened from its trance. Surveys the world, abash’d ; and with a glance Of meek entreaty, seeks amid the throng Kind friends and gentle judges of the song. THE LAMENTATION OF IRELAND* C ALM was the evening* and the sky serene. All Nature smiled upon the golden hour ; The hills of corn were clad in liveliest green, The meads in all the pomp of vernal flower : The soft air was so thin, so clear, Distance was lost in that pure atmosphere; And brighter from its grove gleam’d the remote church tower. Majestic Shannon’s smooth transparent wave, Scarce heard to ripple, scarcely seen to glide, Those lovely scenes in bright reflection gave, Sketch’d o’er its breathless mirror far and wide : As if some hand with skill divine, Some mighty master traced each glowing line. And tinged with magic hues the bosom of the tide. On such an evening, ere the golden beam From the warm landscape had begun to fade, 33 6 TIIE LAMENTATION OF IRELAND. Musing along the margin of the stream. In indolence of thought, my footsteps stray’d. Sooth’d by the calm that reign’d around (For not a sea breeze woke its lightest sound) Along a wave-worn rock my languid limbs I laid. There, as the crimson sunset flush’d the sky, And, purpling, o’er the east thin shadows spread. An aged man came slowly pacing by, With drooping form, and low, dejected head. An infant guide, with duteous hand, His faltering footsteps led along the strand; For though his eyes seem’d bright, the visual ray had fled. The meek, pale face, the flowing locks of snow. The melancholy grandeur of his mien. Triumphant o'er neglect, and want, and woe. Witness’d that once more prosperous days had been. He seem’d, sole frowning o’er the plain, As the last column of some ruin’d fane ; The monumental pile that consecrates the scene. The last sad branch of Erin’s minstrelsy, Withering beneath the breath of power, he lay THE LAMENTATION OF IRELAND. 337 The rich despis’d his song of low degree; The poor had nought but smiles and tears to pay. Here, on the solitary shore, Here would he wander — here he loved to pour A requiem to the dead at the still close of day. “ Lead me,” he cried," where my faint ear may seize Delightful music as the waters lave ; Where I may feel the cool breath of the breeze, Or scent the healthful odour of the wave — They may not these delights withhold !” A sudden flush cross’d his pale cheek, and told The passionate grief that, thus, to the wild winds he gave. “ The harps are mute, th’ inspiring bards no more. Who woke in festive halls the thirst of fame: Who, when red battle shook th’ensanguin’dshore, And droop’d full many a youth of noble name. Swept with bold hand the sounding wire, Recall'd to ev’ry breast heroic fire, And fanned to fiercest blaze th’ expiring blush of shame ! z 338 THE LAMENTATION OF IRELAND. we were lost ! and, foremost in the throng. Came the cloak’d foes, of all our ills the worst; Faction, and feudal hate, and household wrong, And Treason’s parricidal hand accurst ! All the vile Passions were abroad. With their true savage allies, Force, and Fraud ; And the full heart of Shame was trampled ’till it burst ! And Victory follows the glance of his eye. Spur, Elchingen, spur ! nor thy charger restrain, Though he trample alike both the dying and slain ; For thy panic-struck bands fly the bayonet’s shock. As some pale torrent headlong leaps forth from a rock. Spur, Elchingen, spur ; o’er the dying and slain, And curb the wild rout of yon recreant train — For all scattered, like sparks from a down trodden fire. Unresisting they fly, unavailing expire ! Oh, vain every effort ! who clreameth to bind The surges of ocean, or limit the wind ? Still they fly — but the death shout resounds in their ear ; And the tramp of the foemen grows near and more near — - For Britain now bursts on the fugitive throng, And sweeps, like an avalanche, resistless along. ’Tis sunset — and now, from the bright edge of heaven Yon orb shoots aloft the last glories of even, 358 BUSACO. And the glowing clouds float o’er the crimson sky, Like triumphant standards of victory! (Ter far Caramula the blood-red stain, As if risen from earth, streams from heaven again, And Estrella seems dyed to her topmost peak, Like the deepening flush of an angry cheek — ’Tis sunset — the sounds of the fight die away, The conflict expires with the waning day ; The fugitives rush through the ilex shade. And fling from their grasp the encumbering blade — Yet hark ! still arise from the path of the foe New records of vengeance, new wailings of woe; The villages blaze, and beneath the red gleam, Swell the shouts of the spoiler and victim’s scream. The foe like the drag of a refluent tide, Is fiercest at parting, and none may abide ! * * * * * The tempest is past — but, what murmurs are these, That fitfully pass on the swell of the breeze? — ’Twas the last sob of pain — the last struggle of t death, And the stifled moan of the parting breath ! 1812. 359 FRAGMENT. How sweet that little lawn amid the woods, Where carelessly at eve my footsteps stray ; Where mingling Oak unfold their russet buds, And tender Larch amid the breezes play ; And Birch twigs wave, and thorns of purest bloom Shed through the grateful air their fresh perfume. How picturesquely springs the ferny scene. With wild-flowers grouped in negligent array, And the soft carpet of the mossy green, Where oft I loved to sport, an infant gay. While joy was in my limbs, and in mine eye, And every nerve was strung to ecstasy ! * * % * % # 1812. THE ASSIGNATION. F AIL not, my love. To meet me at th’ appointed hour ; Beneath the grove. Where hollies weave their glossy bower. THE ASSIGNATION. 360 With footfall light, That none may hear thy faltering pace — With veil drawn tight, That none may see thy blushing face. Haste then, O haste ! For time drags on most wearily — The moments waste, Sacred to love and privacy. To human eye Impervious are these mantling trees: No word or si^h o Can sound amid the rustling breeze. While thus at even In rapturous solitude we lie. The smiles of heaven Shall bless our spotless ecstasy. For when these arms Around thy gentle form are prest. No vain alarms Shall pain thy pure, confiding breast. When our lips meet, And when our glowing cheeks unite, — THE ASSIGNATION. When our hearts beat, Together press’d in fond delight, — Still shall no thought Unworthy vestal love arise ; No glances, fraught With fires unhallow’d, light these eyes. Should our eyes fill With rapture’s mutual, conscious tear; Should our frames thrill With man’s bold hope, and maiden’s fear, Yet, cease to fear ! Hope only whispers Hymen’s name ; And points how near He waves his torch of holiest flame. 1813. TRUE LOVE. HPRUE love by words can ill prevail; And shuns the idly flattering tale : His language is the pleading eye Fixed in devotion silently. 3(>2 TRUE LOVE. ’Tis not the tear drop at command, Nor pressure of the practised hand. Nor sigh, nor smile — not these impart The holy homage of the heart. No ! true love, like true piety, Pays its devotion silently ; Surviving like a martyr’s faith. When human hope is past in death. 1813. THE BENUMBED BUTTERFLY. B EAUTIFUL creature, how I envy thee ! Pillowed on that soft bosom, gently heaving In its transparent purity ; more fair Thus exquisitely shadowed by thy wings Of crimson, purple-eyed, bedropt with gold. The morning chill nigh killed thee : — happy creature ! Thou wilt revive again, like a glad soul In paradise; and tremble in thy bliss. And wave thy wings rejoicing. Ha ! even now The breath of love that ruffles o’er thy dow n, THE BENUMBED BUTTERFLY. 363 Like summer breezes o’er a bed of flowers. Hath stirred the life within thee, and awakened The fragile spirit of thy tender frame. But see — she smiles, she smiles ! her sunny mouth Dimples with hope and joy; her dewy eyes Are full of pity. O how sweet to watch The heaven-like changes of that angel face ! She smiles upon thee ; and, as if new life Came like an emanation from her eye. Thou leap’st to life again. — Ah, silly one ; Say, wilt thou leave that haven of delight And safety, where she cherished thee, like Love, And nourished thee with pity and warm sighs P Alas ! like Love ungrateful ! So, poor elf. Inebriate with joy, thy giddy wing Shall, for a time, thy form from flower to flower Waft; but autumnal dews shall soon benumb The little feeble heart within thee ; soon Like the harsh season of adversity. Night winds shall find thee out, and thou shalt die — No gentle breast to shelter thee again. Oh ! what a throng of similes I wove For thee, while, cradled in that happy place. 364 THE BENUMBED BUTTERFLY. Thou slept’st supine! Methought that thou wert like A delicate flower cast on a bank of snow ; — Like Cupid nestling in his mother’s arms ; — Like a fair barque from winds and waves escaped. Close harboured in a warm and sheltered creek ; — Like a star beaming from the milky way; — A monarch on his throne of ivory ; — A jewelled brooch; — a bright autumnal leaf Rocked on a limpid wave; — a humming bird Perched on the blossom of the orange tree : — Or fairy sprite, etherial Oberon, Sleeping within a lily^s stainless cup ; — Or, dearer still, as famous poets feign, A Psyche, in her emblematic dress Of life, and joy, and immortality. Harmlessly dreaming near her wedded love. Nor these alone — but thou art fled ; and I, Ingrate ! have chattered more than thou art worth. 1815. 365 EPITAPH ON SIR JOHN MOORE. H IS was a true-touched soul, kind, steadfast, warm, Yet a high spirit nothing could disarm ; A heart though strung to every note of fame. With kind vibration just to friendship’s claim ; A manly form — an eye of strong control, The proud to daunt and cheer the downcast soul; A keen activity that knew no rust, Grasping bright honour’s form even in the dust ; And sighing for the glory yet to come, Though glory wears a crown of martyrdom. Such were his hopes ; nor less his destiny ; Peril was his, and toil, by land and sea: A grand career, closed by a death of pride. The Patriot’s death — and conquering he died ! 366 THE WIDOW. A WAY ! I will not be repressed ! Where does he lie — Oh tell me where? Once let me clasp him to my breast. Ere yet it freezes in despair ! Oh ! I’ll be calm and Pll be mute — You shall not hear me once complain: Deny not then my feeble suit — Let me but see him once a^ain ! Husband ! it is thy wife caresses, And strains thee to a last embrace : The mother of thy children presses With trembling lips thy pallid face ! Feel how these arms thy form enfold ! — He hears not — feels not my warm breath ! His lips are chill — his heart is cold — All stiffened in the frost of death. Those eyes are rayless, whence the light Of love, so full of meaning, stole — Rigid those lips, whose lost delight Thrilled breathless rapture o’er my soul ! That voice is mute whose touching tone My heart would always leap to hear ! THE WIDOW. 367 It whispered thou wert all mine own — And still it murmurs in mine ear. I have no hope — life has no worth — My spirit crushed, my reason shaken ! Oh what have I to do with earth — A lonely wretch by hope forsaken ! 1815. THE FLIGHT OF NAPOLEON. I F thou hadst chosen a sterner lot. Deathless had been thy meed of fame : The blinded world had soon forgot The tyrant’s in the hero’s name ! Live! that the story of thy pride May share thine own dishonoured grave; And teach the world how near allied The despot and the slave ! 368 TO A FRIEND REQUESTING ME TO WRITE A POEM ON A GREAT VICTORY. A NOTHER time — not now — not now — That task of pride is not for me, To wreath around the hero's brow The trophies of bright poesy. The echoes of the antique lyre Have died along my feeble string : My lips have lost the poet's fire — Alas ! I have not heart to sing. Oh ! not for me that tale to tell ; To point the grave where honour lies! Far nobler harps and bards shall swell The triumph of such obsequies. Yet think not that my heart is chill Though with its triumph sadness blend; — Beneath the awful shock of steel I, too, have lost a bosom friend.* * Captain the Honourable William Cecil Pery, second son of the Earl of Limerick, who fell gloriously on the breach of Saint Sebastian. TO A FRIEND. 369 He fought upon the stormy deep ; Then leaped to land at glory’s call : And now his long-loved ashes sleep ’Neath far Sebastian’s ruin’d wall. Yet, oft as memory loves to rest On that career so bright yet brief, I feel a fire within my breast That dries the starting tear of grief! 1815. LINES ON THE DEATH OF THE HON. WILLIAM CECIL PERV KILLED AT THE STORMING OF ST. SEBASTIAN. I. T HE sting of grief is sharp ; Yet proudly falls the tear When glory strikes her harp Above the hero’s bier : And grand the spirit’s flight When sink the brave to die Mid the tumult of the fight And victory’s gathering cry. 370 LINES ON THE DEATH OF II. And though he lives no more Our love shall live and last. Lingering in reverence o’er The memory of the Past: And every manly thought With secret joy shall tell How gloriously he fought — Nor murmur that he fell. in. Cold, William, cold art thou ! But I remember well When o’er that clear frank brow No cloud of sorrow fell. For thou wert like the lark, With song thy sports beguiling A gem of diamond spark, A flower in sunshine smiling: ! IV. ’Tis hard from all to part To which affection clung: ! The kindness of the heart — The fervour of the tong:ue — THE HON. WILLIAM CECIL PERY. 371 Yet that dear form of thine I would not renovate : So bright thine honours shine, *Tvvere sin to change thy fate ! 1815. ODE TO THE DUCHESS OF ANGOULEME. I. F AINT wanderer of an exiled race ! Sad orphan of a martyred sire ! Come to thy first, last resting place ; From worldly pomp and woe retire. Come in thy tearless agony. With marble cheek and frozen eye; Oh come, all hopeless as thou art. And lay thee down in peace, and still thy bursting heart ! ii. Victim of too severe a fate, Wert thou too lightly tried before. Snatched from the ruins of a State, And sprinkled with paternal gore P 372 ODE TO THE Were all thy trials deemed too few, That still thy wounds must bleed anew P Still must it be thy mournful doom. To pine o’er sorrows past, and brood o’er woes to come P in. Oh ! nursed in pomp, and born to power. To wisdom’s influence, beauty’s spell ! What lot was thine P the orphan’s dower — Where was thy home? — the felon’s cell ! Thy woes at length by time beguiled, Once more deceitful fortune smiled; And w 7 oke thee with so grand a strain. The rush of sudden joy w as almost felt like pain. IV. Then was thine hour of triumphing ; — If aught of mortal frailty Around that chastened heart could cling. Or fire that scarce uplifted eye: — But thine was joy so softened down By sorrow’s unforgotten frown. That still through smiles the tear-drop stole. As new-born hope and memory blended in thy soul. DUCHESS OF ANGOULEME. 373 y. Sad was thy pensive countenance. In silent prayer upraised to heaven ; In prayer for thy repentant France, Guilty so late, so soon forgiven. Such wert thou, when th’ acclaiming throng. Bore thee triumphantly along : — So calm, so holy, seemed thy joy, Even hearts unused to melt were touched to sym- pathy. VI. What deep emotion o’er thee swept. When first that solemn mass was sung; When kneeling thousands bowed and wept And joined in prayer thy faltering tongue ! At times, as paused the organ’s roll. Thy moan came sadly on the soul ; Thy shrouded form, paJe, bent in prayer ; — It seemed as though long-lost Religion’s self was there ! VII. Lo where with pomp and pageantry. Yon dark, funereal train of woe Pass, like a mourner’s memories, by, To wailing dirges, soft and slow ! 374 ODE TO THE Once more thy tortured moan is heard, Responsive to each sacred word ; Blent with the organ’s plaintive tones Pouring sad requiem o’er the consecrated bones. VIII. Ay ! thousands wept, and thousands blest, And thousands round thy footsteps hung ; As new-born reverence swelled the breast. As pity probed, repentance stung. Yet these, the men — oh mortal stain ! When shall we trust mankind again? The self-same breath that fanned thy way Welcomes the usurper back, and ratifies his sway ! IX. Awake, awake ! we do but dream ! We dream of troubles past from earth — Awake! ’tis Fancy’s feverish gleam, Shadowing terrific visions forth : The bloody spectre of the past Hath risen o’er our rest at last ; Sweeps in unreal terrors by, With terror-stricken mien, and woe-denouncing crv ! DUCHESS OF ANGOULEME. 375 X. Awake ? alas, this is no sleep — No dream — we feel — we hear — -we see — At least our tears are true ; we weep. And trembling, scan Futurity ! We thought, oh fools ! his light was quenched, His fires decayed, his lustre blenched : Nor dreamed a sun so darkly set Might o’er the world arise in storm and terror yet. XI. Lo ! Discord claps her raven wings. And lurking Havock inly smiles; The sultry Siroc blows, and brings The Desert’s burthen on the Isles : For now, the spoiler of the earth Moves, like the Eastern Idol, forth : — - Around his mad’ning victims reel. And cast their limbs beneath his pitiless chariot wheel. XII. Or haply, like th’ Arch-fiend, when first The confines of the world he trod, Fierce from his bonds so lately burst. Scathed by the thunderbolts of God ; 376 ODE TO THE When, every Angel-guard at last With guileful tongue and swift wing passed, He bent malignant o’er his prey, With flattering smiles to curse, and tempting to betray. XIII. And yet, by heaven, ’twas nobly bold, (Howe’er the day be lost or won) Thus like the Roman chief of old To dare another Rubicon. Not then was his, that Roman heart So fiercely tried, as now thou art : One final strife ’twas his to fight ; — But thou must turn to stem the world’s collected might. xiv. Foul rebel! did no tongue, no eye, No corse, thy desperate march oppose? And, Louis, wert thou doomed to fly, ’Mid quaking friends and pitying foes ? Oh better to have braved the strife. The tyrant’s frown, th’ assassin’s knife. Mournfully in royal state enthroned. Thy lost, devoted race, and faithful peers around ! DUCHESS OF ANGOULEME. 37 XV. So erst, still in misfortune great, Sternly composed, calm in despair. So erst, Rome’s awful Senate sat ; Nor raised an arm, nor breathed a prayer Dauntless they sat, though wild at hand Barbarians stormed with fire and brand : Immoveable, to fate resigned, Rome was triumphant still in her unconquered mind. XVI. Yet why from modern Man expect The vigour of an earlier day P Dimly at best do we reflect The worth of ages past away. The virtues of the days gone by Shine like the blessed stars on high ; Pouring through Time’s long, troubled night A guiding ray serene, inimitably bright. xvn. We’re fallen upon portentous times, A stormy yet degenerate age ; Our world a theatre of crimes, A tragic scene, a bloody stage. 378 TO THE DUCHESS OF ANGOULEME. In after days we little guess How abject in their nakedness, How base of heart, how mean of mind, Our deeds shall stand amid the annals ofmankind. XVIII. And after ages, when thy doom Is but a tale of history, Shall mourn around thine exiled tomb. Sad daughter of Adversity! Aye, they shall weep, when tears are vain : Their tears shall deepen every stain ; When thou art gone beyond the sky, Throned in immortal peace with Him that dwells on high. 1815. ON THE DEATH OF SIR THOMAS PICTON, SLAIN AT WATERLOO. O H give to the hero the death of the brave! On the field where the might Of his fame sheds a light Through the gloom that overshadows the grave. ON THE DEATH OF SIR T. PICTON. 379 Let him not be laid on the feverish bed ; There to waste like the rav •/ Of a taper away. And live ’till the spirit be dead. Oh no ! he should lie on Fame’s death-bed of pride — Sword in hand on the plain, "Mid the throng of the slain. Where the trumpet of victory sang as he died. No — not with the stealth of disease let him die — He should bound on the flood Of his fame and his blood To the hero’s bright home of the sky ! For the life-blood whose stream to our country is given. In the pride of its worth Shall be honour’d on earth And the spirit be hallow’d in heaven. Such fate, gallant Picton, was thine — when the few. Who surviv’d thee in fight. Won the day by the light Which thy deeds shed around Waterloo. 380 ODE TO THE EAGLE STANDARD. I. B IRD of war ! beneath thy wing Death hath marched through every age ; Beneath thy dark plume’s shadowing Sought battle’s wildest rage : Where'er, through gathering clouds afar, Thine eye hath hailed red Victory's star, ’Tis writ in blood on history’s page, That man will rush through fire and ruin, And follow — to the world’s undoing. Herald of conquest ! round thy path The cannon's breath of fire, The spear, the sabre’s edge of wrath, In dreadful pomp conspire : And all the hundred arms of Death, Like lightnings from a thunder-cloud, Along thy way, With ruthless sway, Hurl his fell shafts around the self-devoted crowd. ODE TO THE EAGLE STANDARD. 381 Emblem of Power ! though sceptred hand Hath made thee clasp the monarches wand. And taught thee with despotic eye To wear the crown of empery — Methinks that in thy Roman dress. The winged lightnings sternly grasping, A laurel wreath thy bright form clasping. There beamed a mightier nobleness; And steadier was thy stress. While onward, over half the world, The shadow of thy flight was hurled. ii. War was not then the wily game Of calculating strategy, But a fierce appetite for fame In hearts resolved to do or die. Then sword to sword, and shield to shield. Men trod the fateful battle-field. And vowed, as host to host drew nigh. Living, to rule the world victorious. Or find in death defeat more glorious. Lo ! when that Roman brotherhood Met in the triple strife. 382 ODE TO THE EAGLE STANDARD. But one survived that day of blood ; One mourned his lonely life : And when at length, though long withstood, Rome triumphed on the Punic shore, Along' the land Oblivion's hand Passed, and the very name of Carthage was no more. Thenceforth no arm of human might Had vigour to withstand thy flight; Beneath thy wing all power grew weak. And conquest could not glut thy beak. The Druid, from his mystic hall. Saw thy coming o’er the ocean. And sought his woods in dread emotion ; The Piet, beyond his northern wall, Stood trembling ; and the Gaul, And the rude tribes of German birth, Crouched down in terror to the earth. in. What prowess then could cope with thine p Greece, father-land of glory, tell ! Too brief thy strife round freedom’s shrine ! Too faint, alas ! when freedom fell ! What wonder if soft Persia’s train ODE TO THE EAGLE STANDARD. 383 And Ind's dark myriads fought in vain ; That vain was Egypt's priestly spell ; And Scythian club, and Libyan quiver. Were all too feeble to deliver ! Such was thine early habitude. Stern harbinger of Fate ! And still thou art as keen of blood, And more insatiate. Then Science aye thy course pursued. Attendant on each vast emprize ; In bright career The Arts were near; And Triumph checked his hand, and paused to civilize. Not such thy course in modern times ; But dark with woes, and red with crimes : A meteor, leaving on the wind A wake of fire, and gloom behind. Let smoking Okzakow's despair— Let all those shapes of desolation. Death, sacrilege, and violation, That thronged lost Poland’s midnight air. Late-rescued Spain's, declare — Let Moscow’s fate — Napoleon’s name, Through every age thy deeds proclaim. 384 ODE TO THE EAGLE STANDARD. IV. Days of horror ! still from you The eyes of men shall sickening turn ; And memory tremble to renew Scenes that make the brain to burn. Oh ! tear those blood-stained wreaths aside— Nor of our madness make our pride. Those grim, unhallowed trophies spurn ! Sad signs are they of deeds unholy, Badges of crime, and stamps of folly ! Hark ! hark ! on every side the cries Of anguish and despair And mingling imprecations rise With many a bootless prayer! Once more, from out his stormy skies. The Eagle kens the known dismay ; And speeds his flight With fell delight — Stoops with accustomed aim, and pounces on prey. Bird of war ! thy reign is past : That fiercest onset was thy last. The wrath of Heaven was roused ; and, lo ! A banded world stands up thy foe. ODE TO THE EAGLE STANDARD. 385 A stouter grasp, a loftier mind. Have torn and cast beneath the billow, Thine eyrie from its Alpine pillow — Have strewn thy plumage on the wind ; And now the victors bind Round thy false neck the penal chain — Thou art fallen ; and ne'er shalt rise again. 1816 . The last two stanzas allude to the return of Napoleon from Elba, the battle of Waterloo, and his captivity at St. Helena. EPITAPH FOR COLONEL RICKARD LLOYD. (killed at the passage of the nive.) I N memory of a man who sleeps not here. The hands and hearts of many joined to rear This tablet ; for there lived not on the earth A man of nobler spirit, purer worth. Remember Lloyd! — He led his war-worn band, The first who trod the Frenchman's fated land ; And fought beneath a hero’s eye, and won Applause from him who lavishes on none. c c 386 EPITAPH TOR COLONEL RICHARD LLOYD. At length a bullet struck him, and he sank, Envied in death, on the triumphant bank Of wintry Nive — yet though it be a pride To die thus, think not unavenged he died. No ! round the sacred reliques of the brave A hecatomb of victims graced his grave : With them, his silent ashes moulder there ; llis full-voiced fame is here — is everywhere. 1816. THE ANNIVERSARY OF WATERLOO.* “ Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths, Our bruised arms hung up for monuments, Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings, Our steadfast marches to delightful measures.” Shakespeare. T HE wine-cup sparkles to the brim. And sparkling beams each eye of pleasure ; The maidens in their rosy trim, Light o’er the scene, like Dryads, skim, Glancing to each varied measure: The trembling soul of music springs On air with her seraphic wings, * Celebrated by the Officers of the 30th regiment in Limerick. 1816. THE ANNIVERSARY OF WATERLOO. 387 And pours above, aside, around. Her lavish ecstasy of sound. Breathe not now one tone of sadness — Here joy should catch a martial madness — Vain falls the tear for those who die ! Even now some gallant soul may fly ; But, when Glory seals the breath, Man has nobly conquer’d death. Weep not, then, for those who fell; Tears, not of grief, but pride should swell : Those for whom you vainly sorrow Less gloriously had sunk to-morrow. Fill, then, the wine-cup to the brim. And pledge each living heart of flame ; But, while you quaff, remember him Who only lives in fame. A shout — a shout for Wellington ! Such as he heard at close of day, When the strife was o'er, and the battle won. And he wept o'er the reliques of the fray. A shout for Picton ! such as sweil'd When round his corse stern vengeance peal'd. And France fled far, in wild amaze. From bayonets' shock, and cannon’s blaze. 388 THE ANNIVERSARY OF WATERLOO. And raise such shout for Ponsonby, As when his headlong chivalry At Salamanca, like a flood, Swept o’er Le March ant’s bed of blood ! Shout — shout — for all whose ashes strew The sacred field of Waterloo ! But who amid the countless brave, Who fill, or are to fill, the grave, Who more deserve tlT acclaiming cheer Than those brave souls who call’d us here P Lo ! where yon shatter’d standards droop/ Before whose hallow’d fragments, bending, The Gallic Eagle learn’d to stoop, From Fame’s high pinnacle descending! Through many a storm, o’er many a wave. Those gallant flags have sped, to brave The clouds of battle — skill’d to fly In every clime triumphantly. Now, like two veterans from the wars, Grand in decay, proud in their scars. They stand amongst us, and divide Strange thoughts of mingling grief and pride ; — Of those that conquered — those that died. * The colours of the 30 tli regiment. THE ANNIVERSARY OF WATERLOO. O blessed be the hands that bore Their glorious shreds from shore to shore From distant Egypt’s fiery gales, To Lusitania’s shadowy vales — O’er high Castille’s romantic mountains, Leon’s plains, and Ebro’s fountains — And Pyrenean peaks of snow, And Gascon fields that bloom below — And taught them, last, to flout the breeze, Amid Parisian palaces. Veterans of many a hard-fought field ! Your fame shall last till time shall yield. Where’er you wander, think that here The memory of your worth is dear; That manly hands shall long to strain Hands brave and honoured once again — And female bosoms sigh to claim Communion with your toils and fame ! Limerick, June 18 th, 1816 . 390 TO M. Y OU ask for what I love thee, dearest ! Thy mind’s unspotted purity. You ask me why I call thee fairest? Because that mind is in thine eye. ’Tis not the sober claim of duty, Nor feature’s charm, nor wit’s gay flight, That binds me; — ’tis the moral beauty That clothes thee in an angel light. And vet thou art as fair a creature As ever sprang from Nature’s hand ; Of faultless form, and blooming feature, With wit and wisdom at command. But oh ! thou hast a richer treasure — Thy gentle heart, thy soul, for me ! For these I’ll love thee without measure. And love thee to eternity ! 1816. 391 I N the fulness of time I shall lie in the earth, In the tomb of my fathers, thelancl of my birth ; And the sun shall look down without heat on my clay, And the breezes pass by me, unheeded, away ; And the sights that I loved shall look bright from yon hill, And the sounds that have soothed me be exquisite still. The soft gleaming lake in the heart of the moun- tains, The lapse of the stream, and the falling of fountains. The paths where my footsteps now loitered, now strayed. The moss-covered seat in the depth of the glade, All these shall be loved, as 1 loved them before, When the forms that now fill them are thought of no more. And the light foot of infancy bound like a deer O’er scenes that my sadness regards with a tear. Even here in the shade of those beautiful bowers. Where the presence of love cheers the best of my hours. Other hearts in the fondness of youth shall entwine. Nor think of the raptures long vanished from mine. 1816 . 392 THE SORROWS OF PEACE. FRAGMENT. T HE light that never shines in vain Brings a sure shadow in its train. Peace came, but with a frowning mien, Peace reigned, but o'er a wintry scene. Within our populous cities' bounds No busy voice of trade resounds : Behind his ploughshare, faint and weary. The peasant plods, with heart as dreary. Gloomily casting on the plain Seed that may yet be reaped in vain. Our streets are empty, and our courts Hushed with rank grass : in silent ports Dismantled ships float listlessly. Like weeds upon a stagnant sea : Men stalk abroad with eyes down-bent. Muttering dark words of discontent; And the unbridled multitude Clamour aloud for bread or blood. War's heaviest pangs were light to those Which mock our late and false repose : THE SORROWS OF PEACE. 393 His million mouths consumed whate’er Our labour earned, or soil could spare ; Whose very waste thus caused a spring Of wealth its source replenishing : And, as he filled the cup of grief. Pride soothed, and glory sang relief. Beneath our conquering flag unfurled Still commerce roamed the hostile world. Nor roamed in vain : where’er she flew The buds of wealth bloomed forth anew. Now, barred from every faithless shore, We task and toil, but thrive no more: Despair is clamorous at the gate. And Triumph whispers kindred Fate ; While Want and Treason, hand in hand. Gorge on the vitals of the land ! 1816. FRAGMENT. DEGENERACY OF NATIONAL CHARACTER. W E have been too vain of liberty ; Our very morals wax too free : And thus, corrupted at the source, Our manners hold a turbid course. 394 DEGENERACY OF NATIONAL CHARACTER. The clays of chivalry are fled ; The heart of chivalry is dead ! The daring deed, the lofty thought, The unearthly hope, and zeal unbought. The love that seemed too pure for man, The faith that spurned this mortal span, The valour glory could not sate, The patriot fire that rose o’er fate, The truth, the trust, the soaring spirit. That heroes from high heaven inherit, All, all are doomed to fade away ; Their memory sinks in slow decay ; Like dateless armour worn with rust And cankering in forgotten dust ! What though the searching eye may find Some casual stains, such traits behind ; Are modern men and later times Gentler of mood, more free from crimes? ’Tis a true tale, though melancholy, How wisdom grows the nurse of folly ; How knowledge, clutched from pride, will breed A madness in the heart and head ; How gifts abused become accurst. Perverting still the best to worst ! DEGENERACY OF NATIONAL CHARACTER. 395 Thus science has her alchymy ; Religion sours to bigotry ; Thus liberty becomes a sin Preached by the savage Jacobin : Thus errors are made obstinate Stung by the madness they create. 1817. OIL of my birth! Land of my pride! The world’s last refuge and sole guide ! Britain, the just, the free, the glorious. The brave, the generous, the victorious; O beauteous in each varied dress Of pomp, or rural happiness ; Whether forth issuing, mailed, to war, Crown’d like a queen on glory’s car — Or seated in the peaceful ring Beneath the hawthorn in the spring — The bright-eyed muse shall weave for thee Her songs of immortality. Not that around thy living head Triumphs are richlier garlanded Than lavish ages pour’d on his Of Marathon or Salamis — TO MY COUNTRY. 396 TO MY COUNTRY. Hut that thy grandest deeds were wrought For justice; with so pure a thought, It seem'd as if the heavens, allied. Came down to combat by thy side. What, though thy storied battles live In that grave splendour Truth can give ? Though jealous Science, proud of fame. With thine identifies her name? What, though the sister Arts around thee In their lovely dance have bound thee? In arms resistless, as in mind ; Thy triumphs are of nobler kind. Fame, such as thine, can ne’er depart — Its seat is in man’s moral heart ; And stablished there with Truth, shall never Fade from the soul, but live for ever! By thee th’ enfranchis’d slave was given Freedom on earth, and hope in heaven. Still’d at thy voice, with holy awe. The wandering savage stoops to law ; And, kneeling on the tear-wet sod. Lifts up his hands and heart to God. ’Twas thine that blessed word to preach Far as the voice of hope can reach, TO MY COUNTRY. 397 In every tongue, in every clime, To want, to sorrow, and to crime. Pure from the heart branch out from thee The living veins of charity ; And education, hand in hand, Travels with thee each distant land ; For every thirsty lip to bring A draught of knowledge from the spring ; Down whose broad waters, as they spread, The riches of the earth are led — And those sublimer gifts that flow From God above, to man below, 1817 . A POET'S HOME. I ASK not stately palaces — Mine be a cottage closed with trees, Airy, yet shelter’d, on a slope, Whence the eye may range with hope— A poet’s nest, with alleys green. High terraced, walks, and glades between. — Let roses, and each climbing flower, Hang round my white w'alls like a bow'er— - . 398 a poet’s home. Before my porch a bright parterre, With blooming shrubs that scent the air; While trees of every flower and leaf Group thickly round, in dark relief. Give to my books a spacious room, Through green leaves lit (a sunny gloom) With one deep window in a bow, To catch the various scene below ; The winding stream, the cultured vale, The meadows “ hedg’d with poplars pale ; ” The manor-house, the spire, the town. With gardens green, and stubbles brown ; The sparkling mill, and shadowy bridge. And, stern o’er all, yon mountain ridge, Thrusting from each jutting rock The giant antlers of the oak, And bathing in yon sunny lake The shadow of his purple peak. Such be my home — love’s wedded smile Making life blest and holy ; while, Sporting their kindred flowers among, We watch our bright-faced infant throng — Or, ’mid a group of faithful friends, (When the light of day descends) Round the household fire rehearse A POET'S HOME. 399 Some famous page of ancient verse — Or, with airy feet advance To th' unpremeditated dance — Or bend o'er music's witcheries. With parted lips, and glist'ning eyes. — And let me gather round my door A busy, cheerful, virtuous poor ; Homely in speech and pure from art, Truth and the Bible in their heart. Thus let me live ! and, when I die. Not fade from good men's memory! Leaving to those I love, a name Loved, and not all unknown to fame. 1817. PETRARCA. CANZONE III. “ Standomi un giorno solo alia finestra,” I STOOD one morning in a lonely place. Whence the strange shapes of many a fearful thing Swift by my troubled eyes went shadowing. A creature first appear'd, whose gentle face Beam’d with a human grace, 400 FROM PETRARCA. Even Gods might look upon with love : — behind, Two dogs, (one white, one black) sw ift as the wind. Rush’d with bare fangs, impatient of the prey : Breathless she sank, all mortal trials past. Beneath a stone at last : — Sighing, I watched her beauty’s swift decay, By death untimely swept from earth away. A bark then, on the bosom of the sea, With silken sails, and golden ropes, appear’d, And sides with ebon streak’d on ivory. The sea was tranquil, and the air was soft ; And not a vapour veil’d the heavens aloft; Proud in her noble freightage she career’d : Sudden, a storm in the cold east I heard, Tossing into the skies the troubled wave. That drove that bark upon a hidden reef. Scarce one swift hour (ah, bitter was my grief!) With fate she struggled, when a moment gave Her wealth and worth to a devouring grave. Deep in a leafy glade the sacred boughs Of a young laurel verdantly arose. Fair as a shapely tree of paradise ; The birds beneath her shade so sweetly sang, While every shape of pleasure bask’d around, It seem’d as if I trod some happier world : FROM PETRARCA. 401 Yet, while I gazed with fix’d, admiring eyes. The sky was overcast — loud thunders rang — Keen lightnings rent the ground — And from its root that blessed plant was hurl’d. — Sad are my days ! I never can regain The shadowy freshness of that bower again ! In the same wood a fount up-sparkling play’d. Pure from the rock — a fresh and dulcet springs Scattering its waters, softly murmuring. On its still shores of dim delicious shade, Nor flocks, nor herds, nor shepherds, throng’d around. But nymphs and Muses singing to the sound : I sat me down ; but when, Amid that paradise of sound and sight. My heart felt most delight. Earth open’d ; and within that gaping den, All sank ! — Oh, bitter was that hour of ill ! And memory shudders to recall it still ! A phoenix, whose proud forehead beam’d with gold, With pinions shedding a purpureal light, Steer’d o’er the wood her solitary flight; A form celestial, of undying mould. D D 402 FROM PETRARCA. T deem’d her — till she reach’d that fatal scene Where the tree perish’d, and the fountain sank. But all tilings pass away ! She mark’d the broken stem, the leaves’ decay. The living waters dried within their bank, Then turn’d upon herself, as in disdain. Her beak, and died. — That moment, in my heart A grief was kindled that shall ne’er depart. At last, in pensive loveliness, there came, Stepping through clustering flowers, a gentle dame : (Still memory glows and trembles at the thought) Humble, yet scorning love’s imperfect flame. She moved ; — in simple robes, of such pure hue They seem’d of snow, in golden broidery wrought, And from her forehead threw Folds, light as vapours, veiling her sweet frame. Sudden, a snake that lurk’d beneath a leaf Stung her — like a cropt flower she bow’d her head , And, joyfully in faith, her spirit fled. — Alas there’s nought on earth unchangeable but grief! 1817. 403 STANZAS FROM MENZINI. BY A LADY. L ET others praise the rose That proud in beauty glows. Boasting the charm of her unequalled bloom ; Dearer the violet’s hue, Bathed in the morning’s dew. And breathing through the shade her soft perfume. While droops her languid head Upon its grassy bed. And her pale leaves half open to the air, E’en those dear pallid leaves Are like a heart that grieves, Pining beneath the weight of amorous care. Let Youth his brows entwine (Mid cups of sparkling wine) With garlands woven of the damask rose : But, when the tear-drops start Fresh from the lover’s heart. Thine is the loveliest, dearest flower that blows. 1817. M. 404 TRANSLATION OF AN INSCRIPTION FROM A MURAL MONUMENT AT ROME. T HE past is not ; in colours vainly true, Memory alone retains it : The future is not: fair in every hue, *Tis only hope that feigns it. The present only is; a flash from heaven But for a moment given : Then what is life, by which we set such store? A memory, a hope, a point — no more ! 1817. FROM THE FRENCH OF MADAME DE MURAT. “ TFHY art thou such a fleeting treasure?” ▼ » Sighing, once, I said to Pleasure ; “ From the grasp that would detain thee “ Flying, ere our arms can strain thee!” FROM MADAME DE MURAT. 405 Answered Pleasure — “ Cease this mourning ; To the Gods due thanks returning: Had permanence to joy been given They ne’er had let me roam from heaven!” O ’ER a book of ancient lore I saw a little Cupid pore; And cried : “ Behold the infant Sage Studies Plato’s heavenly page ! ” O witless bard ! conjecture wild ! — "Twas Epicurus charmed the child. 1817. FROM THE ITALIAN. ^GRATEFUL Love ! that, scornful Hiest Scared by my thinly scattered locks of grey ; Now thou art gone, in pity to my grief. Consoling Friendship comes to my relief: — If the bright ringlets of my youth had scared thee. Ah ! what a load of sorrow had been spared me ! 1817. M. PHILOSOPHIC LOVE. (FROM ROSSI.) 400 CATO IN UTICA. (FROM LUIGI ALAMANNI.) E RE yet the self-devoted Cato died, 1 They promised Caesar’s mercy : “ Say,” he cried, “ I, who am Cato, and a Roman, fly Not Caesar’s vengeance, but his charity.’’ 1818. REPENTANCE. MADRIGAL OF MICHELAGNOLO BUONAROTTI. A LAS ! alas ! thus lingering o’er the course Of my lost years, amid so many days Is there not one to cherish as my own? Deceitful visions, vain desires alone, Love, with its sighs and tears, and late remorse (Too frail, alas, have ever been my ways) Have chained me down ; till on the proof I gaze, How far from truth and joy I have been flying. Now, moment by moment dying, While the shades close, and light has just de- parted , I totter to my fall, feeble and broken-hearted. 1818. 407 THE MARCH OF XERXES. EPIGRAM OF LUIGI ALAMANNI, 1556 . W HEN in the wantonness of kingly pride, Vain Xerxes spurrMhis war-horse through the tide. And bore his fleet o’er mountain tops — e’en there The Eternal bade his evil heart despair : O’er Hellespont and Athos’ marble head. More than a god he came, less than a man he fled. 1818. THE GLEN OF GLANGOOLE. T HE hills are all around me — in a dell Worn by a stream, a deep and winding glen, On a bare rock, beside a waterfall, I sit ; and musing, lean upon my hand. The song of birds, and the low, piping wind, The distant low of cattle, and the hum Of labouring men, as the breeze dies away. Make music with the stream’s deep under-song; — A mountain music, that revives old thoughts, And tills the eye of memory with tears. 408 THE GLEN OF GLANGOOLE. These shadowy steeps that lift on either hand Their brows into the sun, naked of trees. Yet wear a gorgeous mantle ! the green grass. The golden gorse, the heath of purple bloom With its brown foliage, group amid the rocks In tufts, or spreading banks; the lady-fern Spreads out her delicate fingers ; ’neath the stone Dewed by the torrent’s spray, on marshy spots. The bright, green flag shoots up : a thousand weeds Of curious form, and wild-flowers of all hues. Hang pendent from the fissures of the cliffs. Far ’neath my eye, even at the valley’s gorge, A ruined chapel with its ivied walls, Mid the rude grave-stones of the villagers. Lies sheltered ; thence gray orchards, and green fields Spotted with cattle; and the furrowed glebe Where yet the tender wheaten shoot lies hid. Waiting the warm breath of the tardy Spring, (Life anchored nigh the haven of the dead) Bask in the day ; beyond, the heathy moor Spreads out its dusky level — a wide plain. Prone as the ocean’s breast when the winds sleep. For the cloud shadows to disport upon. Lo ! how along the depths of heaven, like ships THE GLEN OF GLANGOOLE. 409 With all their white sails crowding- into light. The vapours float magnificent! — beneath In beautiful contention with the light. Shadows are chasing shadows ; like wild hounds. That sweep the dewy mountain^ side at morn. And now thine eastern boundaries, dark plain ! Like youthful memories in life’s eve revived. Flash out to greet the sunset ; the blue hills Rise with their bright crests in serener skies. And turrets start from groves between, and spires Mid clustering walls ascend ; green hills swell out Their bosoms ; and the valleys sink in shade. Oh ! how I love to watch yon mountain heights! For there are eyes beyond, now fixed on them. Thinking of eyes that gaze upon them here : And there’s a constant heart beyond, that beats With a fond expectation, and doth count Days, hours, nay minutes, as they creep away. Pensively chiding the slow-footed time. With a long sigh from my sweet dream I start. Beneath me, from the hospitable cot The blue smoke rises. In their rose-clasped porch Even now my kinsman and his gentle wife Wait me with welcome kind, and friendly smiles. 1818 . 410 STANZAS ON SOLITUDE. i. r I ^IIE streamlet that winds thro’ the shadowy A glen, The blossom that bends o’er the brink of the foun- tain. Are dearest and fairest when farthest from men, In the depth of the woods, the repose of the moun- tain. li. The wild bird that hangs on the wings of its song, The deer stepping shy, w ith a glance through the bowers, The butterfly carelessly flitting along, Like the soul of the spring that is nourished on flowers ; ill. The wind with its pipe, on the side of the hill. Or slumbering at eve on the breast of the river, When all but the rail and the watch-dog are still, And the waterfall’s voice, that is music for ever; STANZAS ON SOLITUDE. 411 IV. All these have a charm that we pine for in vain, With man in this vortex of folly and madness; For society binds down the heart with a chain ; And the world only teaches us lessons of sadness. She wreath’d her golden hair; And bound her brow with flowers — But, now, she is not there. Along the dewy meadows Her sandal’d foot was seen. Chasing the cloudy shadows That fled along the green. She, in the sunny weather, (Whose fickle smiles are brief) Would toss the hay together. Or bind the clustering sheaf. And she, when Autumn’s charms The twilight shades enhance, 1818. PASTORAL SONG. NDER the linden bowers 412 PASTORAL SONG. Twining her graceful arms Would lead the pastoral dance. Her cheeks of blushing beauty, Her modest eyes downcast, I thought it was a duty To worship as she passed. Her’s were the snowy fingers, That lov’d the strings of song. What time the west wind lingers Poetic steeps among. Her innocent voice ! how T sweetly Arose its simple sound ; While virgins fair and featly Went dancing in a round ! It mingled with the fountains Whose resonant voices breathe The music of the mountains O’er quiet vales beneath. It floated o’er the billows, It stirred the bowering brake : It died amid the willows That fringed the placid lake. PASTORAL SONG. 413 Nymphs of the wood and river. That, fawn-like, trip it by. And flee from mortals ever. So graceful, and so shy; Say, in what cool recesses. Within your sacred dell. She dips her golden tresses Beneath the shadowy well — - Or, in the living waters, Whose sunny depths display The Naiad’s bashful daughters Oaring their easy way P Say, ye fair creatures, whither Her timid footsteps rove P That I may seek her thither. And win her to my love. ODE TO APRIL. S WEET April month ! that, like a gentle maid, Com’st with a changeful look, as half afraid, With all thy train of buds, young Flora’s daugh- ters. And balsam-breathing airs, and bubbling waters ; 414 ODE TO APRIL. Now walking brightly through the sunny hours, Now, shadowy, hid behind a veil of showers : Oh ! how I love thy blush of delicate bloom, And that young breath of thine of faint perfume — And all those swift varieties, that glance Charms ever new from thy mild countenance : Still beautiful, whatever they express. In quickening smiles, or touching tearfulness! Now, in thy secret places, Where Nature tends thee with her sylvan Graces, Thou lov’st to dwell; Down in the bosky dell. Where the stream lapses from its shadowy well ; Mark’d by the willow-hush that silent stoops O’er the cool margin, and those briery groups, With wild fern mingled, where, in furry troops, Young rabbits gambol, and the hare sits still, Screen’d by the golden-thronging daffodil. These are thy haunts — and thou hastleisure hours To clothe with bloom the blackbird’s vocal bowers ; And thou hast some to spare, (King-cups and daisies) for the wild deer’s lair; Where the gorse spreads a wilderness of bloom ; — Or on the lonely heath — or in the gloom Of some old wood, whose glades of sunny moss Dark, ivied oaks stretch their great arms across. ODE TO APRIL. 415 Thou lovest too, on some high-bosom’d hill. Thy youthful lap to fill With cowslips, and to woo The morning sun, and evening's milky dew, With scatter'd violets, and soft primrose-banks ; Apart from whose glad ranks Pallid Narcissus, from the neighbouring mead Declines above the stream his fragrant head. Blithe April ! like another Hebe, bringing Sweets in thy cup — in primal freshness springing From the cold bosom of a rugged nurse — The Psyche of the kindling universe ! Although the task be thine Some careless wreaths to twine For thy maturer sister’s radiant brow. That steals apace upon thy footsteps now, — (Enchanting May) — yet, in thy virgin eye. And temperate movements, and young purity. Thou hast a quiet charm, more exquisite Than all her glories in the blaze of light. Nor are thy walks confined To the free wilderness : amid mankind Thou makest thy footprints visible in flowers. And thy breath palpable from cultured bowers. — The garden-ground is thine, and those sweet beds 416 ODE TO APRIL. Where Flora pillows her youngchildren’sheads — The many-tinted hyacinths are there, Granting: their odours to the lavish air — And the dark-smothered violets, that lie Wrapping their sweets in their own privacy — The polyanthus, from his cushion’d bed. Mingling all tints, exalts his varied head — Auriculas, like some soft-scented beaux. Stand round the parterre, in well powder’d rows — From her green, shining bush The Indian rose looks round, w ith a faint blush ; Just where the green-house stands, a glittering mass, In bright relief starting from shrubs and grass. Coy periwinkles, too. Beneath their leaves peep out, with eyes of blue — And, through the thickets of green underwood, The warrior wall-flower lifts his crest of blood. Behold the throne of Spring ! Nature’s proud mart ! Deck’d w ith the brighter jewelries of art. And those who walk the farm may find thee there, Benignant month ! — for thine is still the care Of the young corn-blade, struggling to the birth Through the dark tilth of earth ; ODE TO APRIL. 417 And, when the small lambs bleat, thou tend’st them well. Leading the totterers to some shelter’d dell, Where the sun warms them : — and the teeming kine. When the young calf is at the heel, are thine ; And, then, thou makest the juicy herbage grow ’Till the swol’n udder gives the milk to flow. The world’s increase, the springs of life, to thee Belong, sweet nurse of immortality ! The breath of love is on thy lips ! the light Of an imperishable hope is bright Within thine azure eye! First-born of Time, Sweet April month, I hail thee in thy prime ! Currah Chase, April, 1819. THE DREAMS OF YOUTH. M INE was a visionary youth : my heart Sought not in gay society its part. All but that heart I doubted ; and methought The world too harshly judged me: — then I sought Some kindred solitude, the woods among, Where none might watch my mood, or hear my tongue. 418 TIIE DREAMS OF YOUTH. There would my soul to Fancy's bosom fly ; There scan her faery form with raptured eye. Nor wanted sweeter influence. Yet a child. Land of the lakes and hills ! thy scenery wild Broke first the slumber of my opening years : Thy mossy banks caught first the tribute of my tears. Dear were thy twilight vales, where the stream wound. Rippling or still, in solitude profound, Beneath the o’er-arching verdure of broad trees, (Wedding its sweet voice with the varying breeze ;) A leafy cavern, haunted by cool airs. And shadows such as pensive twilight wears ; Or where some white cascade the rocks among Through oaken thickets musically sung ! Dear was that hedge-row path I daily trod. Dear was that cot, the farm, the common road. Where sounds and sights of life went bustling by. All dearer as familiar to my eye ! And loved 1 not, when evening’s brightest hour Lived on the lake,* all glorious, from my bower To launch my skiff, and through the sparkling glow Scan the pellucid depths and rocks below ; Or mid the stillness of the sunny deep, * Windermere. THE DREAMS OF YOUTH. 419 Watch the blue shadows of the mountain steep? And loved I not the Fells — where, brisk and clear. Rushed the north wind, a free-born mountaineer? .Toyed not my spirit on some jutting peak To feel the breath of heaven upon my cheek. And gaze with silence forth through the thin air. The quiet world around all glistening there, Yet chequered in its beauty ; as if still Heaven's tear-drops trembled on each breezy hill? Those sunny slopes, those cots, where Freedom dwells. Love-chosen bowers, and deep romantic dells. Those glorious lakes, those mountains wild and Where audibly speaks out the Deity, [free, Woke with strong touch within my yearning soul An answering chord that Time shall ne’er control! But, oh ! the spirit that made all things dear. Spell of enchantment ! does it yet dwell there? And those who made that fireside dear to me. That danced my infant limbs upon the knee. That told the tale I loved, that sang the song. Or led my light foot the green lanes along. At morn, when sheep are on the mountain side. Or where the teemingkined rive home at eventide — Oh, where are these?— -And have my years gone by ? Have I, then, learned how all are doomed to die? 420 TIIE DREAMS OF YOUTH. Scarce thirty summers fled, and must I feel That Time alone is indestructible? Yet let me pause — and, though my eyes are wet. See through my tears, and hear loved accents yet. O, venerable woman ! let me look Once more on those mild features, as a book Wherein all beautiful thoughts are noted well. And pious deeds recorded : let me dwell In memory on thy lineaments — thy head In its white kerchief neatly filleted — Thy small, spruce body, gently bent by age. Needing no staff to prop thy pilgrimage; For thou wert hale and fresh, — kind blessings given From simple food, and the pure air of heaven: And skilled wert thou in every household care, With something always for the poor to spare ; And who so joyed to deal the clamorous elf Sweets from the cupboard, apples from the shelf. While thy fine-hearted offspring marked, and smiled. The heart of Age thus moulded by a child? Oh, melancholy pleasure, thus to press The springs of old emotion ! Scarcely less Does the heart open out its inmost core To phantom forms, and creatures seen no more. THE DREAMS OF YOUTH. 42 L Than to the glowing Present, the warm breath Of passions, that seem scarcely doomed to death! Less true the joys our grosser senses give! — Oh, let me still a visionary live ! And what have been my dreams? Did glory shed A fancied halo round my youthful head ? Felt I the soul of song upon my breath ? Invoked a Pitt’s career, a Nelson’s death ? Bade Freedom, Arts, and Polity, explore Missouri’s spring, and Orellana’s shore ; Siberian wilds, Australia’s world of woods. And Afric’s central realms, and fabled floods? Seemed I to lead the ranks of battle forth, Conquering to save — avenger of the earth ? To stamp the hallowed law, whose links refined Might chain the arm, but not enslave the mind, The tamer of the proud — the friend ofall mankind ? Of such were once my dreams : the youth’s quick eye May range as widely round, may reach as high, As man’s maturer sense, his simpler sight As yet unblunted by the world’s low blight. His thoughts are like the labours of the bee. Culled from all freshest blossoms pleasantly ; 422 THE DREAMS OF YOUTH. ] lis hopes, like morninglarks unwearied springing Sunward, and in untroubled transport singing. Thus, to the day-spring of the days gone by My singing spirit soared in ecstasy ; Till, in its wild exuberance, my heart Seemed of the glorious past a glowing part ; For all its glories gathered round me then — I breathed amid the past, with ancient men ; And Pericles and Plato lived again ! Nor is it strange — alas, all modern w orth Too visibly preserves the stain of earth ; And prejudice through life, and after death, Infects new greatness with contagious breath : But they are awful spirits that of old Lived, and whom still unaltered we behold; Unmeasured in their attributes, like gods Come down to triumph in our dark abodes. Of mind immoveable and iron will. They stand — like abstract shapes of good or ill. In virtue, or in vice, alike sublime, Bright on the horizon of remotest Time : Like yonder hoary mountains, that arise %> * All glowing in the light of evening skies; The first to catch the glances of the sun. The last he looks on ere his race be done; — Thus, hanging o’er the darkness of the land. THE DREAMS OF YOUTH. 423 Like monuments of light the earlier worthies stand ! And they were errors of a lovely faith, That gave to abstract passions form and breath ; Made homes on earth for children of the skies, Stooping to man with human sympathies ; Cythera then held beauty’s Queen, and Love Found in each land a consecrated grove ; Upon the Olympian mount the Thunderer dwelt ; Thy foot, O Mars, the Thracian mountains felt : Apollo trod the sunny paths of air. With eyes of light, and waves of golden hair. Or in the twilight laid him down to sleep. Lulled in the shadow of his Delphian steep : Gray Neptune shook his trident o’er the main ; The caves of central earth were Pluto’s reign : Awful Minerva stood upon her hill (Immortal Art encompassing it still) Beside that beauteous mass of breathing stone, The hundred pillars of the Parthenon : The Graces, and the sister Muses nine. Danced round the well of Helicon divine : Wood-Nymph and Satyr made each valley ring, And every Naiad blessed some favourite spring ! Nor to the temples, nor the haunts, alone. Of Gods I wandered ; to the ruined throne Of fallen greatness — to the storied arch. 424 TIIE DREAMS OF YOUTH. Resounding once to the triumphant march Of Constantine or Trajan ; thy proud walls. Vast Coliseum; and the ruined halls Of Dioclesian, by the Adrian Sea — And all the sculptured pomp of Roman pageantry Thence to the Eastern world ; the mountains rude. Where the ark rested; Babel’s solitude; Upon the silent desert’s edge afar, The pillared terraces of Chilminar ; The mystic characters, and caverned aisles Of Indian Elephanta; and those piles Of long-withdrawing porticoes that stand Far shadowing o’er Palmyra’s level sand. Nor left I Mizraim’s ancient realms behind. Mother of arts, dark nurse of half mankind ! Vast sepulchre of grandeur ! awful space. Where Man with Time hath run, and lost the race The mind that once informed thee is no more ; But thou hast dread mementoes on thy shore, Sad witnesses that last but to declare How vain the giant toil that reared them there ! Behold them yet, beneath the sun’s red disk. The lonely Sphinx, the stately Obelisk ; Dim porphyry columns in red sand half hid; And, high o’er all, the eternal Pyramid, THE DREAMS OF YOUTH. 425 Whose base subdues the earth ; whose dusky head Cleaves the still, sultry, air. The mighty dead Lie there in vain — their very names unknown, They sleep ’neath monuments of nameless stone ! On these I mused : "till softer visions came. And Hope’s impassioned hand unveiled the dream. Then rose a faery form, as soft and bright As beckoned e’er the bard or crowned the faithful knight : — Pure as an untouched heart will chastely draw, And kind, yet compassed still with loving awe. Angel-like, on she drew : no dream was here : She came — I knelt — I trembled — worshipped near. She was a radiant being made to bless A heart love-tried, with virtuous tenderness. There was a vernal gladness in her eye — All life — all youth — all love — all purity. The breath of Spring came fragrant from her lip ; And Spring bloomed on her cheek : her foot’s light trip. As with the lowly glance of maiden fear She moved, scarce left its sound upon the ear : Health played around her, yet no vulgar health ; Hers was a delicate bloom that came by stealth ; 426 TIIE DREAMS OF YOUTH. The (lye of modesty, love’s trembling light, Varying its breath-like changes exquisite ; Feelings — , oh such as sealed in secret lie; And thoughts whose utterance lives but in the eye : A mind whose placidness seemed caught from heaven, Like breezeless ocean on a cloudless even. — And is she mine and hold we to our heart Pledges and memories that shall not depart? Prophetic dreams ! not vainly have ye poured On me your treasures rich as miser’s hoard. That thought whose dawn my youthful heaven made bright Masters my manhood’s world with sober light. Lo, these the very footpaths, these the bowers That heard the whispers of our bridal hours ! Again your murmurs sound ; again arise The unfailing vision to my tearful eyes ! That old alcove beneath the broad oak-tree — Thou, with thy latest love-pledge on thy knee, Our blue-eyed girl, with leaps to my embrace, Snatching swift kisses with infantile grace ; While he, our first-born, kneeling at our feet, Proffers his woodland posy, fresh and sweet, Sweet as the child who cull’d it from its lair. To strew our laps or braid his sister’s hair. THE DREAMS OF YOUTH. 427 Enchantress Fancy ! thy creative sway Pervades the world ; thy wand all hearts obey : Thine is the gentle influence, thine the power. The past to quicken — paint the future hour! The wretch decrepid, friendless, poor, un- known, Stretched on his bed at midnight, and alone, May snatch thee to his breast, live on thy tongue, His pangs forgetting as he lists thy song. His fevered form can mount upon thy wing, And taste the freshest gusts of balmiest Spring ! Faint from the fight, or gasping from the wreck. The toil-worn sailor sinks along the deck ; And, as his bronzed brow rests upon his arms, Shuts out with closing lids all past alarms; While dreams come round him, rocked upon the billow, Calm as the infant’s on its genial pillow. What sees he now P A harbour of the deep Stretched beneath woody heights, in sunny sleep. With many a winding creek and darkling bay. Through jutting groves retiring from the day : — At the far end, upon the water’s edge. Just rising from a stained and weedy ledge, A cottage in a plot of garden-ground ; And in a porch, with rose and woodbine wound, 428 TIIE DREAMS OF YOUTII. His gentle wife, her spinning-wheel at rest, Clasping a rosy infant to her breast; While a more noisy group, beneath yon cliff, With shouts rock to and fro their light-ribbed skiff. Plain competence is all he dares to ask; Home to demand and bless his daily task; The element he loves, but free from thrall; And woman’s fondness to illumine all. Where is the soldier’s wife? Ah, lonely lot ! Poor, heart-sick dreamer of the cheerless cot ! Ay, there she sits, and consecrates with tears The silent flight of her half-widowed years : — Long winters now have passed since he was born. That blooming boy ! and since his sire was torn From her fond bosom, yet a conscious bride, A tearful trembler blushing at his side. Of this she daily dreams, and of the time — The young spring blossoms just were in their prime — When first of that dear burthen, with a start, Conscious, she felt him grow beneath her heart. Oh, moment strangely mingling joy and fear; Named with a blush in the young husband’s ear ; When clasped in that embrace of rapture wild She hails him first the father of her child ! — Old memories woo her still, like breath of flowers THE DREAMS OF YOUTH. 429 Borne on the breeze new-scaped from morning bowers : And thus she smiles away the gloom of sorrow ; Thus strives to think but of the hopeful morrow ; And whispers to her boy with tearful glee. How soon that absent father he shall see ; Whose name so fondly to that lisping tongue She teaches, earliest burden of his song. But sometimes darker fantasies assail Her solitude ; and most when winds prevail : — Ay, w hen the storm is up, and the dim air Shakes with the thunder ; then she fears and there ! No shape of woe but o’er her rises then. No toil, no pang that waits on valiant men — The frozen bivouack, the famished march. The shell wide bursting o’er its fiery arch. The breach, the mine, the midnight battle-plain, And wives that blindly grope among the slain ! She faints — ah no, she wakes ; and Hope once more Bids her kneel down, and pray that God may yet restore ! Such, potent visions ! such your walks, assigned Through all the circling pathways of mankind. And oft to you a nobler task is given — To soothe the bed of death with thoughts of heaven : 430 THE DREAMS OF YOUTH. Wing the freed soul : and from the entered cloud Dispense a weeping hope to those beneath it bowed. Yea, when some darling form is snatched away, And closed for ever in its house of clay. Rapt Fancy turns the streaming eye to gaze Far on through sapphire depths and starry blaze, Nor fails, with power sublimed by cleansing grief. To envizage Truth, and vivify Belief. There, haply lingering yet, the soul we love Looks back to earth, though winged to joys above ; Bends once its sacred form and sainted head O'er scenes for ever dear, for ever fled ; Then darts with clasped hands mid that choir eterne. Whose triumph thrills the everlasting bourn With shout of adoration and pure hymn ; There cherub grows mid kneeling cherubim. Who gird with living ring that blest abode, The throne of Christ, the judgment seat of God ! 1820. 431 A DREAM. FRAGMENT. T HE sun had set, and o’er the eastern sky The cloudless moonstept forward into light, With a pale smile, and looked round bashfully; Even as a bride, who, watching the calm night Steal o’er the mountain and the silent river. Heaves a soft sigh, and gives a gentle shiver. The moon was up ; and all her train was there Of handmaid stars, that beautifully glance Their twinkling eyes around ; and through the air. To sounds, unheard by mortal ears, advance ; And duly, as the shadowy night returns. Pour out their rills of light from crystal urns. Soothed by the placid hour, and much opprest By the day’s turmoil, I sought out the shade Of an o’er-arching oak ; and took my rest On moss-beds prank’d with flowers, whereon I laid My languid limbs ; and soon began to close My eyes for weariness, courting repose. 432 A DREAM. That tranquil bovver was planted near the bank Of a vast river, on whose heaving breast Tall masted ships, at anchor, rose and sank So gently, that the motion look’d like rest. Woods waved along the margin, and afar The steadfast mountain propped the silent star. Skirting the distant shore, washed by the tide. With all its jutting quays and rising towers, That glistened in the moonlight, in its pride A city lay, watching the midnight hours: Soundless she lay, as though she were a tomb, Whence life had passed — yet death without its gloom. Deep sleep came o’er me : suddenly, methought, A mighty wind up-gathered ; clouds spread wide O’er heaven ; the congregating waves seemed fraught With a hoarse fury : loud above them cried The Spirit of the Tempest, in his wrath. As o’er the earth he traced his fiery path. Then, from that city’s heart, a wild commotion Burst on my ear : — I heard a cry go forth Of freedom, like the wave-fall of the ocean Upon a rock-bound shore : — the solid earth A DREAM. 433 Shook; the consummate shout of victory Peal’d out : and I was ware that some new day was nigh. The scene was changed, and at that city’s gate I stood : the air was musical with joy ; And marshal’d ranks went by in ordered state, Chariot and steed, stern warrior, laughing boy, The matron with her babe : one gladness filled Those thousands — the hush’d heaven with rapture thrilled. Upon his car of triumph, drawn along By shouting crowds, a champion meekly stood, Bending around to that tumultuous throng: Conqueror, yet half by modesty subdued ; While at his chariot-wheel the vanquished band Followed, with downcast eyes, linked hand to hand. The slave that slept had waken’d — ****** LINES. S ORROW to him who with a tearless eye Can tell of friendship’s death-dissevered tie ; Can, with firm hand, retouch each fading line O’er which submiss affection loves to pine ; F F 434 LINES. Or, with the limner’s skill, revive a form Defaced by death, and equalled with the worm. Lamented Waller! man ne’er dropt a tear Truer than that which consecrates thy bier. When stooping o’er thy grave, we feel how all That worth we prized hath fled beyond recall : The brow of open thought, and inborn sense, The ingenuous eye whose glance was eloquence, The heart, round which the kindliest feelings clung, And, herald of that heart, the blameless tongue; The liberal hand, which dealt, in just degree. The sacrament of thoughtful charity; All lost in undistinguishable gloom ! Closed with past ages in one common tomb ! Thus fades, commingling with its parent earth. The perishable part of human worth — But that unearthly essence, which descends From a diviner source, for holier ends, Th’ immortal soul, to that, perhaps, ’tis given Still to preserve some human thoughts in heaven; To cherish, kneeling at the throne of God, Some fond remembrance of its first abode. Oh then return to bless our nightly trance! Smile on our dreams with thy meek countenance ; O’er those that live — alas ! survivors — bend — The lonely father — nor forget the friend ! 435 VERSES FOR MUSIC. i. A low, unearthly sound Is groaning on the air ; And there shoots along the ground A shadow, and a glare : A shroud is o’er the sky. And the thunder-stroke is nigh — Oh ye Dead ! oh ye Dead ! ’tis the hour When ye rush on my heart with avenging power ii. They are gone — the steely glare, And the tempest rattling loud : There is sunshine in the air, A bow upon the cloud ; A music in the trees, A perfume on the breeze — Oh ye Dead ! oh ye Dead ! ’tis the hour When ye steal on my soul with a healing power MAIDENLY SORROW. CANZONET. I. M INE eyes are filled with tears ! And wherefore is it so, thou foolish maiden ? Fond love is always full of fears ; And therefore are mine eyelids wet with tears, My heart with sorrow laden. ii. My cheek is wan and pale ! And wherefore is it so, thou simple maiden? Fond love doth all too much prevail; Therefore the roses on my cheek are pale, My hopes, like flowrets, faden. hi. My lips are silent grown ! And wherefore is it so, thou timid maiden ? Fond love is loath her tale to own ; And therefore are my lips so silent grown — They fear to be upbraid en ! MAIDENLY SORROW. 437 IV. Loose is my virgin hair ! And wherefore is it so, lamenting maiden? Fond love, repulsed, taketh no care : Therefore dishevelled is my raven hair, My brow with shame is laden. LUCRETIA. (FROM THE LATIN.) W HEN chaste Lucretia with her life blood dyed [cried — Her dagger — “Witnesses, come forth!” she “ My blood to man, my spirit to God, and say. By force I fell, the tyrant's loathing prey." 1829. THE COURSE OF TIME. M AY is the bridal of the year : young Spring- Then marries Summer; and their child is Autumn. Hoar Winter next succeeds, the year's old age ; And then comes second childhood — death — and then. The resurrection: and Spring blooms again. 1831. 438 MADRIGAL. SAT down by her side, and told my love; ^ Pressing one arm around her slender waist : When she with suddenstart, and blushful haste. And mild, averted face, Seeking that arm which trembled to remove. Half rose from my embrace ; Yet somehow seemed reluctant to reprove. A timid hope, commingling with vague fears. Came shivering o’er my eyelids wet with tears : The sweet emotion linked her frame with mine — She fell upon my neck and murmured “Thine.” 1832 . FROM MELEAGER. M E from my mother’s nursing bosom ravished The swift of foot, the long-eared Hare, Sweet Phanion nurtured in her breast; and lavished Spring-flowers for my dainty fare. Nor pining for my mother’s love I perished, But over-fattened and too fondly fed : And still my image in her dreams is cherished — And my small bones are buried by her bed. 1834 . 439 FROM ANTIPATER. D EAR was his daughter to Antigones, And his last counsels to his child were these. Beloved girl ! let industry sustain Thy maiden poverty with virtuous gain : “ And be the example of thy mother’s life “ A blessed dower to him who calls thee wife !” 1834. « <( ON ANACREON. FROM ANTIPATER. M AY ivy, thick-embowered, oh Anacreon, flourish round thee; May herbage of the soft, empurpled meadows mantle o’er thee ; May fountains of the whitest milk gush foamingly beside thee; And Earth, as from a source, pour fragrant wine to cheer thee ! So, round thy dustand bones delight may linger, — (If that the Dead, indeed, feel aught consoling) Oh fondler of the lyre! beloved poet! Whose song was aye of love through life’s long voyage. 1834. 440 FROM THEOCRITUS. E URIMEDON! thy timeless death hath left Thy boy an orphan : yet in peace sleep thou. Thy tomb a nation builds; while he, bereft, Shall in thy country find — such is her vow — A parent for thy sake. Rest thee with heroes now. 1834. A SONG OF SPRING. ADDRESSED TO A CHILD. I. I T is Spring ! On every spray Blithesome birds salute the day ! High in the airy ocean blue. Above our old ash avenue, Black rooks are wheeling; and the daws Wrangling on the grass for straws : — For nests must be made Ere eggs be laid ; Soft and warm, Secure from harm. A SONG OF SPRING. 441 Out of reach of knavish boy. That robs poor mother bird of joy. ii. It is Spring ! Along the river Run light breezes, sunbeams quiver: A rippling ring Shows the leap of the trout In and out ; — Clouds of flies Are rising and shifting, Sinking and drifting, And blinding one^s eyes : Swallows are skimming the verge Of the lake’s tiny surge; — With open throat Rushing along, Too swift for a song. A little boat With a Ladye fair Floats, as on air : While the light laugh of her sailor boys Rings around with a heartfelt noise. Alone I loiter on the shore, And mark the flash of the measured oar ; — 442 A SONG OF SPRING. The swan and her daughters Come, flapping the waters : Then sink at rest On snowy breast; Or round the boat With arching throat, Silently move Like spirits of love. hi. It is Spring! Through tufted clovers Roam the glad sheep, chartered rovers. There’s joy with the lambs As they gambol and bleat, Or kneel to the teat, And quaff till satisfied ;• — With fond approving eyes, their dams Look round and lick their side. The heifer is full and sleek; And venerably meek Are her calm majestic eyes, As her calf beside her lies ; — Breathing sweet, contented airs O’er the cowslips, well she fares; And, heedless of their future fates, Quietly ruminates. A SONG OF SPRING. 443 IV. It is Spring ! The dewy morn Echoes no more to hunter’s horn : The death shots now no longer ring Through tawny gorse, or prickly cover, Stubble plain, or woodland over. The leashed dogs steal, Sleepy and slow, at their master’s heel. From her seat behind the fern, The hare leaps out, then back doth 1 turn, Listening, with long, uplifted ear ; But no foemen’s step is near. The white rabbits, fearful souls, Glance abroad from sandy holes. The dappled deer, with antlers aback. Bounds through the hazel and holly brake. Where he lay, still lie The blue-bell tracts like patches of sky : And the sylvan banks Are white with ranks Of their own anemone. The doves, remote in rock recesses, Sweeten the woodland wildernesses — It is the genial time Of weddings and of births. 444 A SONG OF SPRING. When the year is in his prime, And all his heart is Earth’s! v. It is Spring! Mid vapours light The moon walks softly through the night; Dispensing upon either side Looks that suit a maiden bride. By a new world, wonder-fraught, Divided long in dubious thought. She looks at the cedar, and looks at the yew. But the willow bower she gazes through : Her white hands play With the aspen spray ; Her tresses are gemmed with the ivy dew. It is the hour for dreaming: And Fancy only wakes to watch that star Whose bright, mysterious car Mocks with keen flash yon moon’s uncertain gleaming ! The restless eye confounds, well-pleased, the real With the desired ideal. Those sounds up-gathering from the distant wood. And that low coiling flood. Visit us like a breeze A SONG OF SPRING. 445 Launched from some fabulous land of witcheries, Where nought is true, and all things are but seeming. Hark ! Tis the hermit owl Shouting from his ivy cowl, In or near the great old fir — Now the reeds in slumber stir — Hark ! the landrail, loved and sung By me when love and life were young; Early prized and honoured late — Calling his new-wedded mate — Oh solemn are the sounds. Thus varied as they are, That wander over midnight grounds; Draw near, and die afar! They speak of life pervading, And love for ever new : — But of things that are fast-fading They whisper too ! STANZAS. i. B Y the calm margin of the lake wandering I go : While busy thoughts of other days within me grow. 4 4G STANZAS. The trials of my early days once more return : And spectres of long-buried griefs rise from their urn. ii. I think of those who loved me once, some now estranged ; I think of somelstillloveon, although so changed ; Of health from those slow steps so prematurely fled ; Of the forgetful living; of the untimely dead. in. We plant the seed and roots of flowers in fenced parterres. Wasting on the inanimate, parental cares. In vain, in vain, our fostering hands tend the young shoot ! — A chill wind nips the bloom, a worm is at the root. 1842. THE LOT OF ALL. i. A S iron is consumed by rust The strongest hearts are gnawed by care : And wisest spirits moulder in despair If God be not their trust. THE LOT OF ALL. 447 II. O life ! so full of base annoy. With vast desires and discontent, High powers that lack an aim, and sorrow sent Twin sister of each joy ! ill. Thou fliest with reverted face. Still wistful, watching the pale shades That dog thee ever; Fame, that hourly fades ; Love, that so soon decays ; IV. And Passion, shuddering in disgust At Marah’s bitter draught, daily renewed ; And Hope, still craving her delusive food, The Dead-sea fruit of dust. Yon rose, which grew without a thorn Ere sin began, is now with prickles rife : And such the sad condition of our life — - We wound while we adorn. VI. Yet may considerate thought allow. That while the emblem threatens, it befriends:— 448 TIIF LOT OF ALL. A power there is, which, with the sharp spine blends The rose-bloom for our brow ! 1844. HERE is no danger, friends, unless we fear. Man may abandon man ; God never. He Is watchful o’er the veriest poor. Thro’ him Their bread is moistened with a tasteful sweetness. He soothes their sorrows ; fits them for their Comforts their labours; crowns their patience — His arm will aid us when our trouble comes. Restrict me not in friendship : that still leaves This earth a paradise. Within it blooms A veritable tree of life : all sweetness, And innocent enjoyments of our nature Drop from its boughs. Friendship dispels all gloom O In sorrow, and supports our tottering steps ; FRAGMENTS. 1845 — 6 . i. places ; ii. FRAGMENTS. 449 Grafts good on evil, adding grace to good. In friendship banishment regains his country ; The poor find patrimony ; rich men, service ; The feeble, countenance; the sick man, health ! What are the gifts of fortune if unshared By loved onesP without sympathy beheld? in. TIMES PAST. ,r TMS hard to form true judgment of the Past. A We measure not from any living substance; Scan by no rule of definite proportion. No recognised affinities : but guess Those beings of our worship from their shadows Dilated from the sunset of old times. Thus, ’mid their clouds they show like demigods ; Throned in obscurity ; and on the eye Loom with a lordlier aspect: like strong towers Seen through autumnal mists, near mountain lakes. G G 450 FRAGMENTS. IV. THE BRIDE. R adiant and pure, And tranquil in her happiness, she wanders Forth in the twilight fearlessly ; a bride Moving on earth like yonder moon in heaven. Upon whose cheek the broad suffusion lies Caught from the strong gaze of her spouse, the sun — Unseen to us, but smiling on her beauty With an unshaken constancy. v. A HOMESTEAD. T HAT cottage stood within a garden plot, Hedged with blush roses and pale jessa- mine, And verdant herbage diapered with flowers. Around, a grove of stately sycamores Sang to its noontide rest. Old ash, with boughs Sweeping, and feathery spray, and older oaks. FRAGMENTS. 451 With tent-like frond age canopied the hill; Whose grassy sides sloped down into the river, liike a fair scroll flung out from careless hands. VI. CHARACTER OF QUEEN ELIZABETH. H ER successor will need the help of God : For, after such a princess, to please men Were nothing less than miracle. This lady Stood out among the great, their great example : And what have been held virtues masculine, As wisdom, learning, magnanimity, She most excelled in — A warlike nation she secured from war : Religion from religious jars she fenced. She had that art to range around her throne Men who had winnowed truth, and weeded learn- ing From pedantry and ethnick sophistries. But 1 have done. These things are heirs to Fame: Which History, who ever treads beside her, An honest Muse, shall blazon to the world. Alas to see her self-subverted thus : Of a doomed race the last ! 452 FRAGMENTS. VII. T O live alone Were but to live for self. Our nature needs Mutual support, participated joys. We must not, like the fabled boy, gaze down On the blank pool that glasses our own image. And love and languish. We must live for others. All things existing link with other natures ; The sun stoops from the zenith, and casts forth His golden net upon the earth and ocean : The air within her treasury of clouds Hoards not her rains, founts of fertility : The mighty rivers seek the mightier seas. From the eternal mountains with glad voices, Bounding ; and on their mated bosoms bear Great navies, that bind land to land, and knit The fellowship of nations. VIII. M EN of large intellects have minds like wells, Too deep for passing griefs to find reflection . FRAGMENTS. 453 IX. L IFE hath no conditions But which displease him. Churchman he'll not be, For service, even of God, to him is bondage. The sword he can’t abide — ’tis hazardous : All offices of state too cumbrous : trade So infinitely vulgar ! commerce doubtful — It almost troubles him to be a man. x. L IFE streams down to us, a mysterious river Whose fountain heads we know not : but, we know, Thickets of care, and clouds of sadnesses Its secret well environ. Sports avail not. Nor drowsy quiet, to give zest to life. The palace is a cage, and golden bars Soothe not the prisoner ! his wings are clipped — Not so his pleasures : they fly fast and far ; Seldom to come again : but Sorrow stays. And, like a spaniel, crouches at his feet. 454 FRAGMENTS. XI. \T OR cheat yourself, nor hire a world to cheat ^ ^ you : — That Truth you dare not glance at glares on you. The grandeur of your birth is not your gain. High station means high duties : and, remember, As you give here, you shall receive hereafter. XII. O H rather after grief let us rejoice — Rebuild what earthquake jars, or fire consumes, Leap from the wreck to dare the waves again — After defeat rebrace our battered helms — And from the abysmal cauldron of despair Pluck back the plume of Hope with ruddier dye. How spake great Alexander? “ Let us brave “ All dangers of the billow, and explore “ The verge of earth, and look upon the Gods! “ Worthy of heaven, at least Alcides was!” w XIII. UNION IN ABSENCE. E are not as one body bound together; But a united soul. In absence, surely, FRAGMENTS. 455 The image of the Loved-one haunts the mind ; And the loved voice re-echoes in the brain. Such intercourse nor life nor death can bar. xiv. B E sure this earthly love which dwells within us Partakes some portion of divinity. Betokening foregone joy in heaven. All things We see endowed with reproductive virtue ; And feel, and know ourselves imperishable. This mortal frame shall moulder : but across Our dust a ray of our first excellence Shall flash, rekindling it to its first glory — Lifting the spirit to its origin. xv. D IVINE love hath its growth within the heart As pearls beneath the deep : a drop within Its dim recesses, first, as dew distilled. Then marvellously transfigured to a gem. The soul which brings this forth must first receive A spiritual benediction. Christ then lives Within us : and we grow, through Him, divine. FRAGMENTS. 45G XVI. A N if I be a worm, mine office is Like his which spins a thread that shall attire The noblest of the land ; and when his task Is rightly done, sleeps, and puts forth again His powers in wings that waft him, like an angel. Onward from flower to flower, and up to heaven. XVII. ^pHE dove-like spirit of peace that broods above him Bv mortal shock can never be disturbed. THE END PRIMED BY C. W KITTING HAM, CHISWICK. 'v*' V' v- " ' 3 9031 01331126 1 I ^ '± L 3- «■* BOSTON COLLEGE LIBRARY UNIVERSITY HEIGHTS CHESTNUT HILL, MASS. Books may be kept for two weeks and may be renewed for the same period, unless reserved. Two cents a day is charged for each book kept overtime. If you cannot find what you want, ask the Librarian who will be glad to help you. The borrower is responsible for books drawn on his card and for all fines accruing on the same. J 3 ,