The Lay of Marie and Vignettes in Verse. Matilda Betham

The Lay of Marie and Vignettes in Verse - Matilda Betham


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fame,

       The broider'd scarf might wave in vain,

       Unenvied might a rival gain,

       Amid assembled peers, the crown

       Of tournay triumph and renown;

       For me its charm would all be gone,

       E'en though a princess set it on!'

      "I bow'd my thanks, and quick withdrew,

       Glad to escape from public view;

       Laden with presents, and with praise,

       Beyond the meed of former days.

       But that on which I gaz'd with pride,

       Which I could scarcely lay aside,

       Even to close my eyes for rest;

       (I wear it now upon my breast,

       And there till death it shall remain!)

       Was this same golden heart and chain!

       The peacock crown, with all its eyes,

       Its emerald, jacinth, sapphire dyes,

       When first, irradiate o'er my brow,

       Wav'd its rich plumes in gleaming flow,

       Did not so deep a thrill impart,

       So soften, so dilate my heart!

       No praise had touch'd me, as it fell,

       Like his, because I saw full well,

       Honour and sweetness orb'd did lie

       Within the circlet of his eye!

       Integrity which could not swerve,

       A judgment of that purer nerve,

       Fearing itself, and only bound

       By truth and love to all around:

       Which dared not feign, and scorn'd to vaunt,

       Nor interest led, nor power could daunt;

       Acting as if it mov'd alone

       In sight of the Almighty's throne.

      "His graceful form my Fancy caught—

       It was the same she always brought,

       When legends mentioned knights of old,

       The courteous, eloquent, and bold.

       The same dark locks his forehead grac'd,

       A crown by partial Nature plac'd,

       With the large hollows, and the swells,

       And short, close, tendril twine of shells.

       Though grave in aspect, when he smil'd,

       'Twas gay and artless as a child,

       With him expression seem'd a law—

       You only Nature's dictates saw;

       But they in full perfection wrought

       Of generous feeling, varied thought—

       All that can elevate or move,

       That we admire, esteem, and love!

      "Thus, when it pleas'd the youthful king,

       Who wish'd yet more to hear me sing,

       That I should follow o'er the main,

       In good Earl William's sober train,

       As slow we linger'd on the seas,

       I inly blest each wayward breeze;

       For still the graceful knight was near,

       Prompt to discourse, relate, and hear:

       The spirit had that exercise,

       The fine perceptions' play,

       That perish with the worldly wise,

       The torpid, and the gay.

      "In the strings of their lyres as the poets of old

       Fresh blossoms were used to entwine;

       As the shrines of their gods were enamell'd with gold,

       And sparkling with gems from the mine:

      "So, grac'd with delights that arise in the mind,

       As through flowers, the language should flow!

       While the eye, where we fancy all soul is enshrin'd,

       With divine emanations should glow!

      "The voice, or the look, gifted thus, has a charm

       Remembrance springs onward to greet;

       And thought, like an angel, flies, living and warm,

       When announcing the moment to meet!

      "And it was thus when Eustace spoke,

       Thus brightly his ideas glanc'd,

       Met mine, and smil'd as they advanc'd,

       For all his fervour I partook—

       Pour'd out my spirit in each theme,

       And follow'd every waking dream!

       Now in Fancy's airy play,

       Near at hand, and far away,

       All that was sportive, wild, and gay!

       Now led by Pity to deplore

       Hearts that can ache and bleed no more,

       We roam'd long tales of sadness o'er!

       Now, prompted by achievements higher,

       We caught the hero's, martyr's fire!

       Who, listening to an angel choir,

       Rapt and devoted, following still

       Where duty or religion led,

       The mind prepar'd, subdued the will,

       Bent their grand purpose to fulfil:

       Conquer'd, endur'd, or meekly bled!

       Nor wonder'd we, for we were given,

       Like them, to zeal, to truth, and heaven.

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