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

The Ten Days' Queen

Author: William Whitmore
Source: "Gilbert Marlowe, and Other Poems"
Year: 1859
Found here.

On past the village, with its humble spire—
Its quiet cots along the valley winding;
And thence among old woods, and rocks antique,
And mellow fern-glooms, kindling with the glow
Of gorse-flowers golden, to a ruin grey
O'ergreened with trailing ivy, and o'erhung
With brooding shadows of the times of yore.

'Tis Bradgate's noble seat—a desert-pile
Slow mouldering in sun and wind and rain;
But sacred in its ruin; since of old
'Twas graced by one who was a peerless Queen,
And more than royal Woman—ever blest,
Our Lady, sweet Jane Grey. Her gentle name
Is the sole glory of a lordly race;
But her dear fame is hallowed in all hearts
That bow before Misfortune's majesty,
And worship Goodness, Womanhood divine.
She was a marvel of all perfectness—
Fair as a flower, and gracious as a star
That shines on earth, untouched by earthly taint.
The faith and fervour of a holy saint,
The treasured wisdom of a grey-beard sage,
A hero's soul, and all a woman's heart,
Blended with beauty of her maiden youth.
And here she dwelt, unspotted from the world,
In lofty converse with the wise of old,
In pious meditation morn and eve,
In watching and in prayer.
Alas the day,
When the grim Duke, her father, came in haste,
And hailed her Queen of England! Then a cloud
Arose before her eyes; yet looking up,
She calmly said this evil must not be,
For that she sought no earthly diadem,
Nor less felicity than there to reign
Among the shining company of Saints
In Christ's own Kingdom. But he heeded not.
He urged his policies, his cherished hopes,
His house's glory, and the Nation's weal,
In her concentred—fairest of a line
Of monarchs mighty over land and sea.
Then much she pleaded to be spared this doom:
She was too weak—she was too young—unschooled—
The world was old, and grey, and full of snares;
And rather would she dwell in peace with heaven,
Amidst her own free thoughts, than rule a realm.
To read and meditate thro' quiet days—
To sit at Plato's feet in large content—
This were more blessed than to mount the throne:
Therefore she prayed him that she might have peace.
But he waxed warm, and in his eagerness,
He bade, besought, entreated; till at length,
Urged by her duty, by her love constrained,
Reluctant, yet resigned, she bowed to him
As'twere to Fate; and like a victim sad
To stately sacrifice she straight was borne.
They decked her beauty with a regal robe;
Upon her gentle head they placed a crown,
And set her on the seat of mighty kings.
With her calm eyes she heeded not her pomp,
Yet much it wearied her: it vexed her rest—
It dulled her days with heaviness and gloom—
As'twere a dead man's hand, it touched her heart,
Cold, freezing cold, forbidding her to smile.
A shadow darkened o'er her,'neath whose frown
Her spring of youth seemed withering into age,
And all its flowers were falling, leaf by leaf.
But when unburdened from her royalty,
Albeit by men most cruel, she arose
As from a troubled dream, and saw once more
The heaven's clear face, and felt her spirit strong.
In high majestic meekness she went forth
From the state-palace to the dungeon drear,
Which her pure presense hallowed to a shrine;
Thence to the scaffold, where stern, bearded men,
Wrinkled with treason, mailed against remorse,
Were wont to quail beneath the headsman's stroke--
There in cold grey of the winter-morn,
She stood unblanched amid the blighted bloom
Of her brief eighteen summers. Calm, composed,
With heaven on her lips, and in her eyes,
The pain of patience, and the peace of faith,
She looked upon her doom, and saw no fear.
Some words she uttered to the pitying crowd,
Touching their hearts as if an angel spoke.
Then unto God her praying looks she turned,
Then bowed her head, and yielded her white soul.
And thus she died for evermore to live.--
In form of one so gentle and so young,
A mind so rich with love, a heart with love,
So brave a martyr, and a saint so true,
The world hath seen not these three hundred years.
Three hundred years have silvered the hoar walls:
These desolate chambers have been bright and dim
With all life's shine and shadow. They have heard
Loud shouts of revelry, low sighs of grief.
Old lords in silence died; old servants wept
And shook their grey heads in amazement dumb,
Seeing that power and high nobility
Could stoop to death. But young inheritors
Came gaily, with the morning on their brow,
And sable sorrow blossomed into smiles.
Gay pageants passed in at the arched gate;
Banquets were spread; bright dames and damosels
Lit the dim hall with sunshine of their looks;
Up in the merry morn, a gallant train
With hawk and hound forth issued to the chase,
And with their shoutings, hill and valley rang.
At eventide retired, soft voices low,
And eyes, the stars of twilight, made discourse
Most tender-sweet, most eloquent of love,
While the swift hours in ecstacy stood still
Till the pale moon surprised them from mid-heaven.
All now are less than shadows. Naught remains
But silence, and these ruins, and the charm
Of her, the young, the beautiful, the blest,
The ten days' Queen; whose memory enshrined
Is like a consecration on the ground.—
Time wears to dust the boastful monuments;
He frowns upon the Proud and blots their names.
But o'er the memories of the Good he broods,
Like Night o'er all the glories of the stars,
Keeping them bright for ever. Tenderly,
With reverent care, he cherishes her fame,
Even as a lover cherishes the charms
Of his dead love, and fills his yearning soul
With the great image of her grace divine,
That shines more glorious thro' the darkening years.
Here, too, Time lingers, touching lovingly
The crumbling walls, the turrets, and the towers;
Turning to beauty their old stubborn use,
Smoothing their rude strength into gentle grace.
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