LADY JANE GREY.
Reading edition
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BY MRS. E. J. EAMES.
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“So early wise?”
Lady fair! why linger’st thou?
Hearest not? they call thee now:—
Thy father’s park is filled to-day
With noble lords and ladies gay—
A princely band, with horn and spear,
Are out to hunt the fallow deer;
Put on thy graceful green array
And hie thee to the chase away,
Lord Guilford Dudley waits below,
Lady, close the book and go!
What! bending still above the page?
Doth it thy woman-thoughts engage?
Is it ancient Plato’s classic lore
Thine eager eye is poring o’er?
Well may old Roger Ascham smile
To see thee sit amid that pile
Of musty tomes, and gravely ask
Which study next must be thy task.
Methinks he pierced futurity
When he bade thee scorn earth’s vanity!
Lady fair! go forth to-night—
The royal halls are glittering bright,
Quick—don this gorgeous robe of state—
Northumberland will on thee wait.
Wreathe the crown jewels on thy brow,
And gem with these thy neck of snow:
Now fasten down this diamond zone—
So—there thou’rt ready, trembling one!
The festival is made for thee—
Come—join the queenly pageantry!
Oh, loveliest lady! turn not pale—
Why should thy lofty courage fail?
See England’s proudest chivalrie
Wait at thy feet to bend the knee—
To raise thee to the Tudor’s throne
Their duty, and their hearts thine own!
Even haughty Mary boweth low
And offereth thee her loyal vow—
Noble and prince thy claim have owned—
Lo! there thou standest crowned and throned.
The Tower!—a cell in yon gray tower
Is the price of Edward’s fatal dower!
A bloody doom is on thee cast—
The sentence for thy death hath passed!
Yea, death for one so young and fair—
Yet wearest thou no look of care:
Still on thy book thine eye is bent,
Bespeaking wisdom and content—
Wo! that on cold Ambition’s shrine
Is sacrificed a mind like thine.
Come, lady, come! the muffled bell
Is tolling now thy husband’s knell!
Another hour, and there will be
No earthly care for him or thee!
Go—all undimmed in thy beauty go—
With holy truth upon thy brow:
A lot of glittering wretchedness
Is well exchanged for Heaven’s own bliss;
Thou’st won the martyr’s crown and wreath—
Joy to thee, peerless bride of Death!