While her hands fumbled at her heart, and Death
Made her limbs quake, and combated her breath—
More dreadful than the Queen’s look, as she thence
Made through the court, and reached her own array
She knew not how, and clamored, “Bear me hence!”
And, even as her chariot moved away,
High o’er the Abbey heard the minster toll
Its doleful bell, as for a passing soul.
Though midst her guardsmen, as they speeded back,
The wont of royalty maintained her still,