Мария Джейн Джюсбери (Maria Jane Jewsbury)

A Queen’s Grief

Then all gave way mind, passion, pride.
Croly.

"A BOON a boon thou noble queen,"
A suppliant kneeling said,
"There's one doth crave a word with thee,
And she passeth to the dead;
Yet recks she nought of priest, or prayer,
And nought of friend, or brother,
But calleth night and day on thee,
On thee, and on one other."
Then up arose proud England's queen,
And like a ship on ocean,
She glided from her courtier throng,
With stately mien and motion.
She stood beside the dying bed,
She gave good words of cheer,
And smiled but 'twas the smile of one,
Fewer might love than fear.
The dying woman whispered low,
Her words were faint and few,
But they made the queen as a willow weak,
Her brow take a pallid hue!
She heard of one well loved of old,
She saw his trusted token,
And knew that he bowed to his bloody death,
Deeming her promise broken.
There should be peace in life's last hour,
Hope, and love, and prayer,
But here, the living felt but rage,
The dying but despair!
And each departed to her place,
One to a guilty grave,
The other to sit in her palace hall,
Envying serf and slave;
And ere three days to lie cold and still,
As him her mourned and brave.

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