"Then, Leicester, why, again I plead,
(The injured surely may repine,)— Why didst thou wed a country maid,
When some fair princess might be thine?
"Why didst thou praise my humble charms,
And, oh! then leave them to decay? Why didst thou win me to thy arms,
Then leave to mourn the livelong day?
"The village maidens of the plain
Salute me lowly as they go; Envious they mark my silken train,
Nor think a Countess can have woe.
"The simple nymphs! they little know
How far more happy 's their estate; To smile for joy than sigh for woe
To be content—than to be great.
"How far less blest am I than them
Daily to pine and waste with care! Like the poor plant, that, from its stem
Divided, feels the chilling air.
"Nor, cruel Earl! can I enjoy
The humble charms of solitude; Your minions proud my peace destroy,
By sullen frowns or pratings rude.
"Last night, as sad I chanced to stray,
The village death-bell smote my ear; They winked aside, and seemed to say,
'Countess, prepare, thy end is near.'
"And now, while happy peasants sleep,
Here I sit lonely and forlorn; No one to soothe me as I weep,
Save Philomel on yonder thorn.
"My spirits flag—my hopes decay—
Still that dread death-bell smites my ear, And many a boding seems to say,
'Countess, prepare, thy end is near!'"
Thus sore and sad that lady grieved,
In Cumnor Hall so lone and drear, And many a heartfelt sigh she heaved,
And let fall many a bitter tear.