“The gracious prince that gives him life
Would crown a never-dying flame;
And every tender babe I bore
Should learn to lisp the giver’s name.
“But though, dear youth, thou shouldst be dragg’d
To yonder ignominious tree,
Thou shalt not want a faithful friend
To share thy bitter fate with thee.”
O, then her mourning-coach was call’d;
The sledge moved slowly on before;—
Though borne in a triumphal car,
She had not loved her favourite more.
She follow’d him, prepared to view
The terrible behests of law;
And the last scene of Jemmy’s woes,
With calm and steadfast eyes she saw.
Distorted was that blooming face
Which she had fondly loved so long,
And stifled was that tuneful breath
Which in her praise had sweetly sung;
And sever’d was that beauteous neck
Round which her arms had fondly closed;
And mangled was that beauteous breast
On which her love-sick head reposed;—
And ravish’d was that constant heart
She did to every heart prefer;
For, though it could his king forget,
’Twas true and loyal still to her.
Amidst those unrelenting flames
She bore this constant heart to see;
But, when ’twas moulder’d into dust,
“Yet, yet,” she cried, “I’ll follow thee!
“My death, my death, can only show
The pure and lasting love I bore;
Accept, O Heaven! of woes like ours,
And let us—let us weep no more.”
The dismal scene was o’er and past,
The lover’s mournful hearse retired;
The maid drew back her languid head,
And, sighing forth his name, expired.