In kindred blood—a sister Queen's! Sad error!
Fatal to future peace. What has fate to show
This maiden Queen, who once was sweet and fair;
Who from young hands took flowers; whose tears could flow
In tender sympathy, worn to the grave with care—
A miserable wreck, lately a fresh,
Angelic girl? Let Essex tell with maddening groan.
Her heart—one half, indeed, was heart of flesh
The other half—of stone!
'Neither with her, illustrious Anne, the star
Of whose proud diadem was victory:
Illustrious through him whose strength in war
Was terrible, and most wonderful to see.
Blenheim and Ramilies still trump his fame—
In wild confusion England's foes he hurled;
While Genius crowned with glory many a name,
Which in its turn gave glory to the world.
But she, unhappy Queen, bereft of all
That made her life a joy, except her crown,
With broken heart saw her dear children fall—
The grave insatiable! like buds unblown,
Like star-lit gems, no sooner found than lost.
Like gleams of golden sunshine through a storm;
Ruled by her favourites, by their fierce passions tossed,
Weeping in agony over many a form,
O'er many a lovely form. Alas! her joy,
Whate'er it was, turned into bitterness,
As when we feel relentless woe destroy
Our fondest hopes, believing they might bless.
Dying midst courtiers' quarrels—seeking in vain
For earthly peace—wrenched from the shore
Of all her greatness: her line—last dreaded pain—
Uncrowned for evermore!
'But thou, incomparable Queen! we speak:
But what we feel; it hath pleased God to give
Health unto thee, and strength and heart to seek
Thy joy in His full glory; and mayst thou live
Long years to come; many of us shall die
Still honouring thee as Empress of our homes.
Our thoughts have wings and eyes, and can descry
Thy future bliss, even as one who roams
The realms of space, and sees vast worlds afar,
And muses on the littleness of earth,
Comparing it with each gigantic star:
Our earth, where pride and vanity have birth!
O gentle Queen, may thy remaining years
Be full of peace and joy, thou friend of peace!
Thou friend of virtue ! and ne'er may sorrow's tears
Bedew thy cheek, nor love nor wisdom cease;
Page:Artabanzanus (Ferrar, 1896).djvu/39
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THE VAST CITY OF ETERNITY
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