One brilliant day thou heard'st, "Long live the Queen!" A queen thou wert; and in the heart's despite, Despite the foes without, within, who ceaseless Have threatened war and death,--a queen thou _art_, And wilt be, while a spark of life remains. But this last deadly blow--I feel it here! Yet the low, prying world shall ne'er perceive it. "Actress" they call me,--'tis a queen's vocation! The people stare and whisper--what would they But acting, to amuse them? Is deceit Unknown, except in regal palaces? The child at play already is an actor. Still to thyself, let weal or woe betide, Elizabeth! be true and steadfast ever! Maintain thy fixed reserve: 'tis just; what heart Can sympathize with a queen's agony? The false, false world,--it wooes me for my treasures, My favors, and the place my smile confers; And if for love I offer mutual love, My minion, not content, must have the crown. 'Twas thus with Essex; yet to thee, O heart! I dare to say it, thy all died with him! Man must experience--be he who he may-- Of bliss a last, irrevocable day. Each owns this true, but cannot bear to live And feel the last has come, the last has gone; That never eye again in earnest tenderness Shall turn to him,--no heart shall thickly beat When his footfall is heard,--no speaking blush Tell the soul's wild delight at meeting,--never Rapture in presence, hope in absence more, Be his,--no sun of love illume his landscape! Yet thus it is with me. Throughout this heart Deep night, without a star! What all the host To me,--my Essex fallen from the heavens! To me he was the centre of the world, The ornament of time. Wood, lawn, or hall, The busy mart, the verdant solitude, To me were but the fame of one bright image; That face is dust,--those lustrous eyes are closed, And the frame mocks me with its empty centre. How nobly free, how gallantly he bore him, The charms of youth combined with manhood's vigor! How sage his counsel, and how warm his valor,-- The glowing fire and the aspiring flame! Even in his presumption he was kingly! But ah! does memory cheat me? What was all, Since Truth was wanting, and the man I loved Could court his death to vent his anger on me, And I must punish him, or live degraded. I chose the first; but in his death I died. Land, sea, church, people, throne,--all, all are nought, I live a living death, and call it royalty. Yet, wretched ruler o'er these empty gauds, A part remains to play, and I will play it. A purple mantle hides my empty heart, The kingly crown adorns my aching brow, And pride conceals my anguish from the world.