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The Lady Jane Grey Internet Museum Poetry

The Lady Jane Grey

Author: F. Lawrence
Source: "Sharpe's London Magazine of Entertainment and Instruction, for General Reading"
Year: 1848
Found here.

On hill and stream the morning beamed,
The fresh and fragrant morn,
And through the woodland cheerily
The huntsman wound his horn;
And lords and ladies, richly dight,
The gallant and the gay,
Had vowed to waken with the light
The pastime of the day.

Within her chamher, far apart,
In simple garb attired,
Of modest mien, and brow serene,
A lady sat retired.
In meditative mood she sat,
And scanned the magic page,
The dreamy and mysterious lore
Of Greece's poet-sage.

And when the sound of horn and hound
Broke full upon her ear,
"They wist not in their sports," she cried,
"What pleasure I have here:
They wist not, Plato, of the joy,
The rapture that I feel,
The 'Paradise of rare device'
Thy fantasies reveal.

"The tranquil day has passed away,
Its sunny hours have sped,
And gathering clouds begin to lower
Around the fated head:
The guileless truth of early youth,
Its faith and trust remain,
But other cares and other friends
Surround the Lady Jane.

The heartless wiles of crafty men
Already hem her in,
The perils of the trusting heart
In sober sooth begin;
Before her feet adventurers lay
The glittering bauble down:
The haughtiest knee in England bends
To tender her—a crown!
"My lords," she said, "for one so young,
Twere maidenly and meet
To take your counsels for a lamp
And guide unto my feet:
Albeit, I have never sighed
Nor sought for high degree;
The gauds and glitter of a court
Have little charm for me.

"I reverence your sage resolves,
Your subtlety admit.
And weak and worthless at the best
I know is woman's wit;
But God has fortified my soul
Against this trying hour,
And in His 'faith and fear' I shun
The path to regal power.

"How often in disastrous feuds
Hath English blood been shed!
What living man, my lords, could bear
Its curse upon his head?
Were it not better to unite,
And bid dissension cease,
That so we might advance the reign
Of righteousness and peace?

"May God protect our English homes,
And bless my cousin's reign—"
A sudden shout was raised without
"Long live the Lady Jane!"
Arise, ye loyal Londoners,
And shout for Jane the Queen!
The peerless choice of England's voice!
The monarch of sixteen!

-----

The pageant gay has passed away;
The garish dream has flown:
In sad and silent prison-room
The captive sits alone.
The wasted form, and broken heart,—
The chamber in the Tower,—
Are these the sole memorials left
Of that brief day of power!

But ne'er was sufferer's brow, methinks,
So placid and serene;
Angelic grace had left its trace
In her submissive mien:
"He cannot err whose hand," she cried,
"The universe sustains;
And welcome every change and chance
His Providence ordains."

And as the parting hour drew nigh,
Her faith the stronger grew:
So young, so good, so beautiful,
So constant and so true!
In vain the zealous priest of Rome
Essayed, with honied tongue,
To win her from the cherished creed
To which she fondly clung.

"Sir Abbot," with a smile she cried,
"Your subtle reasons spare;
My heart is fixed and resolute;—
In courtesy forbear:
To argue for my faith is not
For one so weak as I;
But in it, by the grace of God,
And for it I can die!

"And tell my cousin—since, you say,
She mourns my sinful state—
I have a ghostly counsellor
In this my mortal strait.
Tell her I freely own my fault,
And recognise her right;
She loves me not, and soon the grave
Will hide me from her sight.

"May all her subjects duteously
Incline unto her will;
Amd God forgive me, if I e'er
Have wished or thought her ill:
Tell her, that though the flesh be frail,
The spirit feels its might,
And longs to burst its bonds, and soar
Rejoicing into light!

"Commend me to my father's prayers.
And to my loving lord
I charge you as a Christian man
To take my dying word:
It mitigates the stroke of death,
The pang of parting pain,
To think that we who loved so well
So soon shall meet again!"

Tis said, that on the fatal morn,
From her secluded cell
She saw Lord Guildford pass to death,
And waved a last farewell:
Nay more, she saw, too plainly saw,
Beneath her window borne,
Oh sight of speechless agony!
His headless trunk return.

Her fortitude had well-nigh failed
Beneath the cruel shock;
But calmly, martyr-like, she laid
Her head upon the block.
And long shall fame enshrine her name
Among the great and good;
The image of heroic faith
And guileless womanhood.

And brightly her example still
Shines through the mist of years;
The gentle and the true embalm
Her memory with tears:
By winter fires her tale is told,
And never told in vain,
As children listen to the Life
And Death of Lady Jane.
Back To Front Page
Life: 1 - 1a - 1a2 - 1a3 -1b : Jane & Ascham - 1c - 1d - 1e: Jane & Guildford - 2 - 3 - 3a - 4: Jane & Prince & the Pauper - 5
Reign: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 | Tower: 1 - 2 | Execution: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 | Miscellany: 1 - 2 - Uneekdolldesign's Lady Jane Grey Dolls
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