Zinzendorff and Other Poems/Queen Elizabeth and the Countess of Nottingham

Zinzendorff and Other Poems (1836)
by Lydia Huntley Sigourney
Queen Elizabeth and the Countess of Nottingham
4044339Zinzendorff and Other PoemsQueen Elizabeth and the Countess of Nottingham1836Lydia Huntley Sigourney


QUEEN ELIZABETH AND THE COUNTESS OF NOTTINGHAM.


Death stood beneath a lordly dome
    As pitiless and dread,
As when within some cottage-home
    He smites the peasant's head:
"Haste! Call the queen!" a hollow tone
    Of fainting anguish cried,
And she who sat on England's throne
    Came to the sufferer's side.

The dying Countess strove in vain
    Her last request to speak,
Till tears of woe with dews of pain
    Blent on her ashen cheek:

At length her quivering hand unclos'd,
    And lo! a ring was there,
Of rare and radiant gems compos'd,
    Such as a king might wear.

"He, for whose hand this ring was meet,
    I dare not name his name
Once bade me lay it at your feet
    To spare the scaffold's shame;
But I—and be my sin reveal'd,
    And my repentance keen,
In bitter hate the pledge conceal'd,
    Oh pardon! gracious Queen!"

What might that jewel'd toy restore
    Within the royal heart?
Did buried love revive once more
    In that convulsive start?
But none may scan her spirit's frame
    As that fond gift she view'd,
While back her idol Essex came
    From his dark grave of blood!

Again that noble form appear'd
    In homage at her feet,
Again his manly voice she heard
    In murmur'd flattery sweet;
His warm lips press the fatal ring,
    Bright tears suffuse his eye,
Broke she the promise of a king?
    And did that favorite die?

Down, Fancy down! her cheek is pale!
    Her haughty soul doth quake,

The horrors of thy scenery veil,
    The fearful torpor break,
That seems along her brow to steal,
    But lo! with sudden strife,
In all its rash, ungovern'd zeal
    Dire Anger sprang to life.

Revenge, amazement and remorse
    Each warring thought distrest,
And every heart-string's rebel force
    Made conflict in her breast;
Fierce passions o'er her features spread
    As with a frantic grasp
She shook the dying in her bed
    Even at the latest gasp.

With flashing eyes and tottering knees
    She shriek'd in accents shrill
"God may forgive you, if he please
    But no! I never will."
Convulsion like a blighting frost
    Upon the sufferer fell,
And with one groan the wretched ghost
    Bade its blanch'd corpse farewell.

Yet scarce a few more suns serene
    O'er the proud palace sped,
When lo! high Tudor's haughty Queen
    Was with the crownless dead;
Yes! the implacable did stand
    Before that Judge in Heaven
Who gave the great, the dread command
    "Forgive! and be forgiven."