Letitia Landon in Pictorial Album; or, Cabinet of Paintings for the year 1837/Interior of the Warwick Chapel
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INTERIOR OF THE LADY CHAPEL WARWICK.
Painted in Colours by G. Baxter (Patentee) from a Painting by J. Holland
in the Possession of Richard Hollier Esq.
LONDON: CHAPMAN & HALL, STRAND.
INTERIOR OF THE WARWICK CHAPEL.
Low before the cross she weepeth,
Weeping even while she prays;
Golden o'er her mourning garments
Fall the oriel's coloured rays;—
Like the false and shining seeming
Of this life's external show,
Veiling with an outward glitter
All that lies do dark below.
Many graves are round her lying,
Only one is in her heart;
How could one so lovely perish?
Why should one so young depart?—
With the crimson banners round her,
'Neath the scutcheon's gilded shade,
'Mid her old ancestral honours
Is a youthful maiden laid.
And that Ladye is her mother;
She had but that only girl;
Troubled were her life's deep waters,
But they yielded this one pearl.
Wayward are her other children,
Haughty, with their father's brow;
Their life-element is battle;
No one weeps beside her now.
Lonely in her bower at twilight,
Lonely in the festal hall,
No more amid sound or silence
Does she list one step's light fall.
Silent is the lute whose music
Used to float those towers around;
Never since that fatal evening
Has she borne to hear its sound.
And there comes a deeper sorrow
As she kneeleth by the dead;
Well she knoweth what heart-sickness
Bowed that young and radiant head.
'Twas the beating heart forbidden
Love that had been love for years;
Little thought the angry warriors
Of a woman's silent tears.
Vainly did her mother chide her
With a chiding born of fear,
As she saw her pale girl drooping
For the sake of one too dear.
With a meek and sweet obedience
From her lover could she part;
But it cost the bitter struggle
Of a young and broken heart.
Every day her mother saw her
With a darker, sadder eye;
For the sake of that sweet mother
Did she struggle not to die:
But the soft low voice grew weaker,
And the step more faint and slow;
Heavily the languid eyelash
Veiled the large bright eyes below.
Stately were the kindred mourners
By the maiden's early tomb;
Tears were mingled with the shadows
Of the warrior's bending plume.
Soon the solemn funeral pageant
Left the maiden to her sleep:
One alone came back each twilight,—
'Twas the mother came, to weep!