Why should you mourn my fate? 'tis most unkind,
Your own you bore with an unshaken mind:
And which, can you imagine, was the dart
That drank most blood, sunk deepest in my heart?

I cannot live without you; and my doom

I meet with joy, to share one common tomb.—
And are again your tears profusely spill'd?

Oh. then, my kindness blackens to my guilt!
It foils itself if it recal your pain

Life of my life! I beg you to refrain:
The load which Fate imposes you increase,
And help Maria to destroy my peace.'

But, oh against himself his labour turn'd;
The more he comforted the more she mourn'd.
Compassion swells our grief; words soft and kind
But sooth our weakness, and dissolve the mind.
fler sorrow flow'd in streams; nor hers alone;
While that he blamed, he yielded to his own.
Where are the smiles she wore when she, so late,
Hal'd him great partner of the regal state;
When orient gems around her temples blazed,
And bending nations on the glory gazed?

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'Tis now the queen's command they both retreat 65
To weep with dignity, and mourn in state :
She forms the decent misery with joy,
And loads with pomp the wretch she would destrcy.
A spacious hall is hung with black, all light
Shut out, and noon-day daiken'd into night:
From the mid-roof a lamp depends on high,
Like a dim crescent in a clouded sky;
It sheds a quivering, melancholy gloom,
Which only shows the darkness of the room.
A shining axe is on the table laid,

A dreadful sight! and glitters through the shade
In this sad scene the lovers are confined,

A scene of terrors to a guilty mind!

A scene that would have damp'd with rising cares,
And quite extinguish'd every love but theirs.

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7*

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What can they do? they fix their mournful eyes— Then Guilford thus, abruptly: 'I despise

An empire lost; I fling away the crown;
Numbers have laid that bright delusion down;
But where's the Charles, or Dioclesian where,
Could quit the blooming, wedded, weeping fair?
Oh! to dwell ever on thy lip! to stand
In full possession of thy snowy hand!
And, through the' unclouded crystal of thy eye,
The heavenly treasures of thy mind to spy!
Till rapture reason happily destroys,

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And my soul wanders through immortal joys!

Give me the world, and ask me, 'Where's my bliss?

I clasp thee to my breast, and answer This.

And shall the grave'-He groans, and can no more 95
But all her charms in silence traces o'er;

Her lip, her cheek, and eye, to wonder wrought,
And wondering sees, in sad presaging thought,
From that fair neck, that world of beauty, fall,
And roll along the dust, a ghastly ball!

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Oh! let those tremble who are greatly bless'd!
For who but Guilford could be thus distress'd?
Come hither, all you happy! all you great!
From flowery meadows, and from rooms of state;
Nor think I call your pleasures to destroy,
But to refine, and to exalt your joy :
Weep not; but, smiling, fix your ardent care
On nobler titles than the brave or fair.

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Was ever ach a mournful, moving sight?
See, if you can, by that dim, trembling light:
Now they embrace; and, mix'd with bitter woe,
Like Isis and her Thames, one stream they flow:
Now they start wide; fix'd in benumbing care,
They stiffen into statues of despair:
Now tenderly severe and fiercely kind,
They rush at once; they fling their cares behind,
And clasp, as if to death; new vows repeat,
And quite wrapp'd up in love, forget their fate;

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A short delusion; for the raging pain

Returns, and their poor hearts must bleed again. 120

Meantime, the queen new cruelty decreed;

But ill content that they should only bleed,

A priest is sent, who, with insidious art,
Instils his poison into Suffolk's heart,

And Guilford drank it hanging on the breast,

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He from his childhood was with Rome possess'd.
When now the ministers of Death draw nigh,
And in her dearest lord she first must die,
The subtle priest, who long had watch'd to find
The most unguarded passes of her mind,
Bespoke her thus: Grieve not; 'tis in your power
Your lord to rescue from this fatal hour.'

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Her bosom pants; she draws her breath with pain;
A sudden horror thrills through every vein;
Life seems suspended, on his words intent,
And her soul trembles for the great event.

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The priest proceeds: 'Embrace the faith of Rome,

And ward your own, your lord's, and father's doom.'
Ye blessed spirits! now your charge sustain :
The past was ease: now first she suffers pain.
Must she pronounce her father's death? must she
Bid Guilford bleed?--It must not, cannot be.

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It cannot be but 'tis the Christian's praise,
Above impossibilities to raise

The weakness of our nature, and deride

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Of vain philosophy the boasted pride.

What though our feeble sinews scarce impart

A moment's swiftness to the feather'd dart;

Though tainted air our vigorous youth can break,
And a chill blast the hardy warrior shake?

150

Yet are we strong; hear the loud tempest roar
From east to west, and call us weak no more :
The lightning's unresisted force proclaims
Our might, and thunders raise our humble names
Tis our Jehovah fills the heavens; as long
As he shall reign Almighty, we are strong:

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We, by devotion, borrow from his throne,
And almost make Omnipotence our own:
We force the gates of heaven by fervent prayer,
And call forth triumph out of man's despair.

Our lovely mourner, kneeling, lifts her eyes
And bleeding heart, in silence, to the skies,
Devoutly sad-then, brightening, like the day,
When sudden winds sweep scatter'd clouds away,
Shining in majesty, till now unknown,
And breathing life and spirit scarce her own,
She, rising, speaks; 'If these the terms-'

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Here Guilford, cruel Guilford! (barbarous man!

Is this thy love?) as swift as lightning ran,
O'erwhelm'd her, with tempestuous sorrow fraught,
And stifled, in its birth, the mighty thought:
Then, bursting fresh into a flood of tears,
Fierce, resolute, delirious with his fears,
His fears for her alone, he beat his breast,

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And thus the fervour of his soul express'd:

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Oh let thy thought o'er our past converse rove,
And show one moment uninflamed with love!
Oh! if thy kindness can no longer last,

In pity to thyself forget the past!

Else wilt thou never, void of shame and fear,

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Pronounce his doom whom thou hast held so dear.
Thou, who hast took me to thy arms, and swore
Empires were vile, and Fate could give no more;
That to continue was its utmost power,
And make the future like the present hour:
Now call a ruffian, bid his cruel sword
Lay wide the bosom of thy worthless lord:
Transfix his heart (since you its love disclaim)
And stain his honour with a traitor's name.
This might perhaps be borne without remorse,
But sure a father's pangs will have their force '
Shall his good age, so near its journey's end,
Through cruel torment to the grave descend

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"His shallow blood all issue at a wound,

Wash a slave's feet, and smoke upon the ground? 195

But he to you has ever been severe;

Then take your vengeance'-Suffolk now drew near,
Bending beneath the burden of his care,

His robes neglected and his head was bare:
Decrepit Winter, in the yearly ring,

Thus slowly creeps to meet the blooming Spring
Downward he cast a melancholy look,

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Thrice turn'd to hide his grief, then faintly spoke
'Now deep in years, and forward in decay,
That axe can only rob me of a day :
For thee, my soul's desire! I can't refrain;
And shall my tears, my last tears, flow in vain ?
When you shall know a mother's tender name,
My heart's distress no longer will you blame.'
At this, afar his bursting groans were heard;
The tears ran trickling down his silver beard:
He snatch'd her hand, which to his lips he press'd,
And bid her plant a dagger in his breast ;'
Then, sinking, call'd' her piety unjust,'
And soil'd his hoary temples in the dust.

Hard-hearted men! will you no mercy know?
Has the queen bribed you to distress her foo?
O weak deserters to Misfortune's part,
By false affection thus to pierce her heart!
When she had soar'd, to let your arrows fly,
And fetch her bleeding from the middle sky.
And can her virtue, springing from the ground,
Her flight recover, and disdain the wound,
When cleaving love and human interest bind
The broken force of her aspiring mind?
As round the generous eagle, which in vain
Exerts her strength, the serpent wreaths his train,
Her struggling wings entangles, curling plies
His poisonous tail, and stings her as she flies.

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While yet the blow's first dreadful weight she feels, And with its force her resolution reels,

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