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The Lady Jane Grey Internet Museum Poetry

The Death of Lady Jane Grey

Author: Edward Hind
Source: "Poems by Edward Hind"
Year: 1853
Found here.

Slow waned the night before the appointed day
Of execution of Lady Grey;
Lovely she knelt amid her dungeon's gloom,
Like the white angel by Jesu's tomb;
Breathing the sighs of her expiring youth
Unto God of innocence an truth;
Sweeth through the night ascended Virtue's prayer,
For Christ to pity, and her God to hear;
Sweeter from heaven descended that reply,
Brought grave to pardon, and gave strength to die;
Calmly her mind surveyed its sad estate,
Rising superior to approaching fate;
And as soft slumber o'er her senses stole,
Sweet dreams of heaven shed glory round her soul.
Dully the dawn broke through the winter night,
And over England shone the sombre light;
The scaffold's reared, the hour of doom draws night--
They come! to lead the victims out to die.
The youthful Dudley, doomed, like Jane, to feel
The bloody stroke of power's unpitying steel,
Would fain once more his bride's sweet aspect view,
And with one last embrace bid all adieu;
But her sedate, religion-balanced soul,
Refused the adieu might shake their self-control;
So the young lovers mercy wept to save,
Embraced again, but in the lifeless grave.
Ah, Guilford! Guilford! thou hast felt the blow
Which sends thy soul where murderers ne'er shall go;
That headless corpse, Jane! now they're bearing by,
Shall nevermore upon thy bosom sigh;
The lips met thine in love's endearments sweet,
No more shall breathe their music at they feet;
One sob of anguish, an the pang is past,--
Lead on your victim now to feel your last!
Calm as philosophy that fairest face,
As chaste as piety her princely grace;
Oh, through the night of time that angel form
Shines like the morning star above the storm;
And through all ages yet shall that clear brow
Beam with the light irradiates it now;
Howe'er could blight the ruthless hand of power,
This sweetest, gentlest, purest, noblest flower!
Barbarians would not strike that neck of snow
The headsman stands prepared to sever now,
A miscreant vile, by earth and heaven abhorred,
Remorseless as the wretch who smote the Lord;
One moment on the ear soft accents fall,
Exonerating and forgiving all,
Then Meekness turns to meet her death, with mein
As mild as mercy, and as faith serene.
Beside the block behold the victim kneel,--
Upon that fairest neck descends the steel.
Mount! saintly soul! mount up to realms divine,
The crime is theirs, a crimeless heaven is thine!
And through all ages yet shall loveliest bloom,
Thy memory, Lady! o'er thine earthly tomb!
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