Fear no more the lightning flash. Nor the all-dreaded thunder-tone Fear not slander, censure rash; Thou hast finish’d joy and moan All lovers young, all lovers must Consign to thee, and come to dust.
[ CUMNOR HALL]
The dews of summer night did fall; The moon, sweet Regent of the sky, Silver’d the walls of Cumnor Hall, And many an oak that grew thereby.
Now nought was heard beneath the skies, The sounds of busy life were still, Save an unhappy lady’s sighs That issued from that lonely pile.
‘Leicester!’ she cried, ‘is this thy love That thou so oft hast sworn to me, To leave me in this lonely grove, Immured in shameful privity?
‘No more thou com’st with lover’s speed Thy once-belovèd bride to see; But, be she alive, or be she dead, I fear, stern Earl, ’s the same to thee.
‘Not so the usage I received When happy in my father’s hall; No faithless husband then me grieved, No chilling fears did me appal.
‘I rose up with the cheerful morn, No lark more blithe, no flower more gay; And like the bird that haunts the thorn So merrily sung the livelong day.