Paid Ad: Visit our Royal Wedding shop and buy online china, artwork and Royal Wedding prints
Paid Ad: All you need to know about the Diamond Jubilee of Queen Elizabeth II June 2-5, 2012

The Lady Jane Grey Internet Museum Poetry

Lady Jane Grey In The Tower (Written while steaming up the Ohio.)

Author: W. G. Francis Whiting
Source: "Poems of Past Years, with a Few of Later Date"
Year: 1881
Found here.

"Farewell!"—Thine accents linger on mine ear-
That word is said—yet still I seem to hear;
And still within my own thy hand to clasp,
Which presseth mine in sad detaining grasp;
And still—but, ah!'tis fancy—thou art gone,
And I sit here, in silence, and alone.

Alone!—alone!—I am deserted now:
All its false firmness passeth from my brow;
And crushed to earth, benumbed by misery,
The unrecorded vacant hours go by:—
Till, starting suddenly, I mark the gloom
Of night, slow stealing o'er the shadowy room:
Then all that was, and all that now is not—
The past felicity—my present lot—

And the stern future with its unseen pain,
Hush in swift thought across my maddening brain,-
And pacing wildly to and fro, I seem
To strive against some dark oppressive dream,
Which like a nightmare weighs upon my heart—
Still seems unreal, yet will not depart.

Woe! woe!—and can it be? now so elate
With hope,—and now so deeply desolate!
A happy bride—a queen,—the curtain falls,—
The next scene—lo! these gloomy prison walls!
No voice to soothe, no fond arm to caress,—
I shrink beneath such utter loneliness.—
Ah! that philosophy we proudly think
Will so sustain us that cannot shrink
Whate'er may come to pass, scarce waits the hour,
But flies at once before the adverse power.
Alone'tis in prosperity we hold
Our strength so great—unproved and overbold;
The moment comes of trial, prone we lie,
Even at the first shaft winged by misery.
Escape!—I gaze my prison wildly round,
As some neglected way might yet be found
To win back liberty—no hope is there,
And the strong walls seem mocking my despair;
While grimly frowns yon iron banded door—
Yon narrow casement—'wretched one, give o'er!'
And wherefore do I rack my brain with thought,
How by my wit deliverance may be wrought,
Thus like a caged bird struggling to get free?—
To fly, my own heart's lord, and rest with thee!

My friend! my husband! was the past in vain?
And are we severed ne'er to meet again?
I sit—and, sunk in reverie, recall
Sweet thoughts of our lost happiness; and all
That was, in long review before mine eyes
Glides gently onward with its sunny skies;
Until I lose myself, and seem to be
Still in our quiet home with only thee!
And thou art once more bending by my side,
And I again the all too happy bride;
While, widely spread, the fair illumined page
Woos, yet not wholly can our thoughts engage,
For oft we turn to each our mutual eyes
There fondly seeking gentler sympathies,—
Till, grown forgetful of its task, we lend
The studious hour to love, nor more attend.
Ha!'tis no fancy—no, I see thee there—
My Dudley! mock not thus my lone despair!

Come—come!—ah! wherefore dost them stand apart,
While sorrow sits so darkly on my heart?
And why I know not—but the heavy tomb
Seems closing round me in this deepening gloom!—
I gasp—I faint—lead, lead me back to earth!
Why didst thou so forsake me, love!—come forth!—
Nearer and nearer still, and let me rest
My aching head upon thy faithful breast,
And clasp mine arms around thee Ah!'tis gone-
A moment's phantasy—I am alone!

Tears! tears, sweet tears! ye come at last—ye come,
Like truants to a long deserted home!
Welcome—your balmy influence quenches all
The fever of my grief—fall on, still fall!—
'Tis well! I now am calmer, and can brook,
Unshrinking, on the gathering storm to look;

And in my misery, with prophetic eye
Pierce the weird mist that veils futurity,
Nor longer with false hopes the present mock—
What see I there?—The headsman and the block.

* * * * * *

Heavily, sadly, drag the hours away,—
Drear night is slowly giving place to day:
Through you barred window steals the glimmering light—
How painful to my vigil wearied sight!
Within, it gilds a cold and gloomy cell,
Making captivity too visible;
Without, it calls activity to birth,
And my sad ears are mocked with sounds of mirth.
Oh, happy voices! wherefore do ye come
So near the lonely victim's fearful home?

The fair blue sky!—even through yon grating, lo!
It looketh smiling on my prisoned woe!
I picture now the landscape beaming bright
Beneath the rising sun's unclouded light;
The streams are sparkling in his ray—the trees
Bend gently murmuring to the passing breeze,
Which wafts the perfume of a thousand flowers
Over the earth to glad the busy hours,
And soothe man's heart amid the toil—the care—
That clings around, and meets him everywhere.
The veriest wretch is happier now than I
Who walks at liberty beneath the sky;
Though poverty may weigh his spirit down
Still can he call some secret joy his own;
And hope ne'er flies the free. But I am left,
Of all dear to my yearning heart bereft,
In dismal solitude, whose heavy air
Weighs down my soul and mates me with despair.

Not for myself, not for myself I mourn—
Oh! wert thou but in freedom—to return
To our loved home—or—or—no matter where,
So thou wert fetterless,—then would I bear
This cruel fate with scarce a passing moan,
For that the evil would be mine alone.
But thou art also in our foes' stern power,
And sadly passeth each untended hour
O'er thy bowed head. Alas! I picture thee
Sitting, absorbed in grief, so hopelessly!
Because I know thy eagle spirit less
Can bear against such prisoned wretchedness,
Than mine; for thou wert ever first among
The gay and free,—the bugle's note ne'er rung
On thy unheeding ear—with hawk and hound,
Forth on thy gallant courser woulds't thou bound
To follow with the foremost. All is gone!
For the o'ershadowing trees rise walls of stone,
Controlling thy impatient step, and making
Thy heart beat wildly as though it were breaking
In the strong yearning to escape! What pain
Would I not bear, so thou wert free again!

A distant echo—hush!—a stranger's tread:
I shrink—I tremble—half in hope, half dread.
Oh! there are moments when sweet mercy may
Even to the coldest bosom win its way.'
Tis but this solitude hath on me wrought—
We are so young—Death is too dark a thought:
If stormy clouds awhile the sky o'ercast,
Doth not the sun break smiling forth at last?
Thus oft towards bliss man wins his way through pain;
Then wherefore may we not rejoice again?
Away each chilling doubt—I clear my brow
To firmly meet the grace accorded now.
* * * * * *

At last he is departed—and to tell
How vain his wily mission!—it is well!—
Nay—nay!—Alas!—for thus their cruelty
Makes me pronounce the sentence,"Thou must die."
Dudley,'tis I who give thee to thy doom—
When a few words would save thee from the tomb?
But not alone thou goest—with thee there
I too shall be, in the grim death to share.—
Apostacy!—and could they deem it worth
That awful price—a few more years on earth?
Life so uncertain—marr'd so by distress—
And at so high a purchase—valueless.
How could we gaze upon each other's brow,
Nor shrink away from all it would avow;
Guilt—shame—so sadly written there?—Hot tears,
That spring in secret; and corroding fears,
That grow into distrust, would steal away
The peace of night, its sweetness from the day—
Till we——Alas! I will not speak the thought
My shuddering fancy from that future caught.

Let me be calm! It is not well to think
So wildly, while thus standing on the brink
Of the chill grave. Let me no more recall
The happy past,—but meekly yielding, fall
Before the mercy seat of the High God,
In humble faith beneath His chastening rod.
Too much this world hath clung around my heart;
Too ill prepared is my sad soul to part
From this its feeble tenement: but now
I will control myself, and from my brow
Bid the deep anguish pass.

Father in Heaven!
Look down in pity! Let me be forgiven,
That in this great affliction's testing hour
I have succumbed too feebly to its power,
Nor sought at once Thy face.'Tis hard at first,
When the full feverish heart seems as t'would burst
Beneath its weight of woe—'tis hard to bear
The sudden change from bliss to deep despair;
My life had been so happy: but at length
Thy mercy hath restored my mind its strength,
And from my thoughts I drive all earthly grief,
Seeking where only it may be found, relief—
Even at Thy feet, dread Lord!—Also for one,
Who less can bear even than I have done
This stern reverse of fortune, would I seek
Thy grace—Let not the trial find him weak:
Sustain him, Mighty Father! lest he fail,
And o'er his faith the wily foe prevail;
Too eagerly they the yielding hour await—
And life is sweet, and the temptation great.
So may we at Thy footstool meekly bend,
Nor fear the blow that bids life's troubles end.
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
Lee Porritt's Jane Artwork | Jane Comic | Movies: "Lady Jane" - "Tudor Rose"
Stephan Edwards' Page On The Eworth Painting, Tower Images & Bradgate Images
Newest Additions - Past Additions: 2006 - 2007 - 2008 - 2009 - 2010
Library - Links - Bookcase - Book Store - Donate - Site Map

This site is constantly under construction. When I have more images to share or more details for images already listed that have none, I will be updating the site. Please join my update only list if you wish to be informed of those updates.

Read the GuestbookSign the Guestbook

Copyright © 2002 - 2011 Sonja Marie - Contact Owner
Want to know when this site is updated? Join my UPDATE ONLY mailing list! Enter your email address below, then click the 'Join List' button:
Subscribe to JaneGreyMuseumUpdate
Powered by groups.yahoo.com