With eyes that horror could not scare, It watch'd the senseless clay:-- Crouch'd on the breast of Death, and there Moan'd its fond life away. And when the bolts discordant clash'd, And human steps drew nigh, The human pity shrunk abash'd Before that faithful eye; It seem'd to gaze with such rebuke On those who could forsake; Then turn'd to watch once more the look, And strive the sleep to wake. They raised the pall--they touch'd the dead, A cry, and _both_ were still'd,-- Alike the soul that Hate had sped, The life that Love had kill'd. Semiramis of England, hail! Thy crime secures thy sway: But when thine eyes shall scan the tale Those hireling scribes convey; When thou shalt read, with late remorse, How one poor slave was found Beside thy butcher'd rival's corse, The headless and discrown'd; Shall not thy soul foretell thine own Unloved, expiring hour, When those who kneel around the throne Shall fly the falling tower; When thy great heart shall silent break, When thy sad eyes shall strain Through vacant space, one thing to seek One thing that loved--in vain? Though round thy parting pangs of pride Shall priest and noble crowd; More worth the grief, that mourn'd beside Thy victim's gory shroud! The Parcae.--Leaf the Fifth. THE LAST DAYS OF ELIZABETH. "Her delight is to sit in the dark, and sometimes, with shedding tears, to bewail Essex."--_Contemporaneous Correspondence._ "She refused all consolation; few words she uttered, and they were all expressive of some hidden grief which she cared not to reveal. But sighs and groans were the chief vent which she gave to her despondency, and which, though they discovered her sorrows, were never able to ease or assuage them. Ten days and nights she lay upon the carpet leaning on cushions which her maids brought her," &c.--HUME. I. Rise from thy bloody grave, Thou soft Medusa of the Fated Line[F] Whose evil beauty look'd to death the brave;-- Discrowned Queen, around whose passionate shame Terror and Grief the palest flowers entwine, That ever veil'd the ruins of a Name With the sweet parasites of song divine!-- Arise, sad Ghost, arise, And if Revenge outlive the Tomb, Behold the Doomer brought to doom! Lo, where thy mighty Murderess lies, The sleepless couch--the sunless room,-- Through the darkness darkly seen Rests the shadow of a Queen; Ever on the lawns below Flit the shadows to and fro, Quick at dawn, and slow at noon, Halving midnight with the moon: In the palace, still and dun, Rests that shadow on the floor; All the changes of the sun Move that shadow nevermore. II.