Page:Poems Sigourney 1827.pdf/19

         Think!—what were her pangs as she traced her fate
         On that changeful monarch's brow of hate?
         What were the thoughts, which in misery's hour
         Throng'd o'er her soul, in her dungeon tower?
                     Regret, with pencil keen,
                     Retouch'd the deep'ning scene:
            Delightful France, whose genial skies
            Bade her gay childhood's pleasures rise;
            Earl Percy's love,—his youthful grace,
            Her gallant brother's fond embrace,
            Her stately father's feudal halls,
Where proud heraldic annals deck'd the ancient walls.

                  Wrapt in the scaffold's gloom,
                  Brief tenant of that living tomb
         She stands!—the life blood chills her heart,
         And her tender glance from earth does part;
            But her infant daughter's image fair,
            In the smile of innocence is there,
            It clings to her soul mid its last despair;
         And the desolate queen is doom'd to know
How far a mother's grief transcends a martyr's wo.

                     Say! did prophetic light
                     Illume her darkening sight,
            Painting the future island-queen
         Like the fabled bird, all hearts surprising,
         Bright from blood-stain'd ashes rising,
            Wise, energetic, bold, serene?
         Ah no! the scroll of time
         Is seal'd;—and hope sublime
Rests, but on those far heights, which mortals may not climb.