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The Lady Jane Grey Internet Museum Poetry

Lady Jane Grey In The Tower

Source: "The Literary Souvenir By Alaric Alexander Watts"
Year: 1832
Found here.

I.
OH! thus it is! the fool, with solemn face,
Stands in the presence of the mighty wise!
Stands full of pity, or of scorn; no trace
Of a high soul before him he descries.
'Tis pure,—'tis meek,—'tis simple; and his eyes,
Dimmed with the blaze of mortal pageantry,
See not the glory that all time shall see.

II.
Get to thy cell, thou man of empty sound!—
Thou tool of State! whose soul doth wear the hue
Of the dull creed, or rite with which 't was found
Thy yielding youth convenient to imbue.
Go! why wilt thou that bleeding dove pursue?
That stricken, gentle dove, caught in the snare
Of worldly souls, and doomed their crimes to bear.

III.
Go! go! she needs thee not! for she has seen
Far into life thou canst not comprehend:
Her hidden and delicious youth has been
Steeped in the dews of ancient thought, that lend
A winged vigour to the heart, and send
Into the tender spirit such a glow,
As dims even crowns, and darkens all below.

IV.
And hither is she come, from her still woods;
From the fair mansion of her long, high line;
Where the spring-flowers did send their joyous floods
Of fragrance through her casement; where the shine
Of peaceful suns awoke her; the dark pine
Waved murmuring round her; and the cuckoo's hail
Came, like a fairy shouting up the dale.
V.
There, lulled in Plato's dreams of heavenly thought,
Or that diviner lore, that on the hills
Of Galilee a lowly Hebrew taught,—
That wondrous lore, which every bosom thrills
With love, deep love, and quenchless hope, and fills
The world that once did scorn it,—there she grew,
A hidden life, that its own sweetness knew.

VI.
The world was her's all freshly to partake;
But far into the spirit-realms unseen
She went, her soul's deep thirst of life to slake;
And thence, with calmest heart, and eyes serene,
She gazed on earth, but as a cloud between
Her spirit and its purpose; and became
Gentle, and wise, but with no mortal aim.

VII.
What had the world with such a soul to do?
Or she with its dark quest of guilty glory?
Its base and selfish heart?—its demon crew,
Who blast the earth, and blacken all its story
With contests mean—or terrible and gory?
She asked, she sought alone to glide through life,
Linked with its love;—the daughter, sister, wife!

VIII.
Yet here she kneels in her unfolding years!
All yet unreached the height of womanhood!
Kneels face to face with Death, and feels no fears,
Though the keen axe be soon to drink her blood.
Calm looks she as the seaman on the flood,
Which, though it loudly rage and wildly foam,
Shall bear him bravely to his distant home.

IX.
Oh, deeply-wronged, yet unresenting!—wise
Beyond thy day and people—it is past!
What now are all thy sorrows? Centuries
Of death's enduring calm are on them cast.
Hushed in thy bosom,—yet in ours they last;
And to the youthful eye, thy name appears
A household word,—still honoured by its tears.

X.
And wherefore is this homage?—It is not
Twined with the fleeting splendour of thy crown:
Nor that thou soughtest to illume thy lot
By feverish struggles for a frail renown.
We couple not thy name with field, or town
Drenched with men's blood; nor with the peaceful pride
Of pencil, pen, nor harp resounding wide.

XI.
No, there are souls that come—and such was thine!—
So clothed in greatness from the' Almighty's hand,
They breathe, and are immortal! All divine,
In starry brightness on the earth they stand,
Pure spirit-flames;—then back to their own land!
Leaving to Time's succeeding tribes to greet
The spot once touched and hallowed by their feet!
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