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“Her court was pure; her life serene;
God gave her peace; her land reposed
A thousand claims to reverence closed In her as Mother, Wife and Queen;
“ And statesmen at her council met
Who knew the seasons, when to take
Occasion by the hand, and make
Which kept her throne unshaken still
Broad-based upon her people's will,
And compassed by the inviolate sea." MARSE, 1851.
WHERE Claribel low-lieth
Letting the rose-leaves fall : But the solemn oak-tree sigheth,
Of an inward agony,
At eve the beetle boometh
Athwart the thicket lone: At noon the wild bee hummeth
About the mossed headstone: At midnight the moon cometh
And looketh down alone. Her song
the lintwhite swelleth, The clear-voiced mavis dwelleth,
The callow throstle lispeth, The slumbrous wave outwelleth,
The babbling runnel crispeth, The hollow grot replieth Where Claribel low-lieth.
AIRY, fairy Lilian,
Flitting, fairy Lilian,
Laughing all she can;
Cruel little Lilian.
When my passion seeks
Pleasance in love-sighs, She, looking through and through me Thoroughly to undo me,
Smiling, never speaks: So innocent-arch, so cunning-simple, From beneath her gathered wimple
Glancing with black-beaded eyes, Till the lightning laughters dimple
The baby-roses in her cheeks;
Prithee weep, May Lilian!
Gayety without eclipse Wearieth me, May Lilian : Through my very heart it thrilleth
When from crimson-threaded lips Silver-treble laughter trilleth: Prithee weep, May Lilian.
Praying all I can,
Eyes not down-dropt nor over-bright, but fed
With the clear-pointed flame of chastity,
translucent fane Of her still spirit; locks not wide dispread,
Madonna-wise on either side her head ;
Revered Isabel, the crown and head,
lowlihead. The intuitive decision of a bright And thorough-edged intellect to part
Error from crime; a prudence to withhold;
The laws of marriage charactered in gold
Of subtle-paced counsel in distress,
Winning its way with extreme gentleness Through all the outworks of suspicious pride; A courage to endure and to obey; A bate of gossip parlance, and of sway, Crowned Isabel, through all her placid life, The queen of marriage, a most perfect wife The mellowed reflex of a winter moon; A clear stream flowing with a muddy one, Till in its onward current it absorbs With swifter movement and in purer light
The vexed eddies of its wayward brother: A leaning and upbearing parasite, Clothing the stem, which else had fallen quite,
With clustered flower-bells and ambrosial orbs
Of rich fruit-bunches leaning on each other
Shadow forth thee:—the world hath not another (Though all her fairest forms are types of thee, And thou of God in thy great charity,) Of such a finished chastened purity.
" Mariana in the moated grange.”—Measure for Measure.
With blackest moss the flower-plots
Were thickly crusted, one and all : The rusted nails fell from the knots
That held the peach to the garden-wall. The broken sheds looked sad and strange :
Unlifted was the clinking latch;
Weeded and worn the ancient thatch Upon the lonely moated grange.
She only said, “ My life is dreary,
He cometh not,” she said ;
I would that I were dead!”
Her tears fell ere the dews were dried;
Either at morn or eventide. After the flitting of the bats,
When thickest dark did trance the sky,
She drew her casement-curtain by,
She only said, “ The night is dreary,
He cometh not,” she said;
I would that I were dead I”