WHEN in the brazen leaves of Fame The life, the death of Buckingham Shall be recorded, if Truth's hand Incise the story of our land, Posterity shall see a fair Structure, by the studious care Of two kings rais'd, that no less Their wisdom than their power express. By blinded zeal (whose doubtful light Made murder's scarlet robe seem white; Whose vain-deluding phantasms charm'd A clouded sullen soul, and arm'd A desperate hand, thirsty of blood,) Torn from the fair earth where it stood, So the majestic fabric fell. His actions let our annals tell; We write no chronicle; this pile Wears only sorrow's face and style, Which even the envy that did wait Upon his flourishing estate, Turn'd to soft pity of his death, Now pays his hearse: but that cheap breath Shall not blow here, nor th' unpure brine Puddle those streams that bathe this shrine. These are the pious obsequies Dropp'd from his chaste wife's pregnant eyes In frequent show'rs, and were alone By her congealing sighs made stone, On which the carver did bestow These forms and characters of woe: So he the fashion only lent, Whilst she wept all this monument. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SAD SONG, FR. THE CAPTAIN by JOHN FLETCHER SEVEN TIMES THREE [ - LOVE] by JEAN INGELOW SONNET TO THE MOON by HELEN MARIA WILLIAMS STANZAS TO HELEN M-- M-- by BERNARD BARTON THE ANT-HEAP by ARTHUR CHRISTOPHER BENSON |