When the young hand of Darnley locked in hers Had knit her to her northern doom - amid The spousal pomp of flags and trumpeters, Her fate look'd forth and was no longer hid; A jealous brain beneath a southern crown Wrought spells upon her; from afar she felt The waxen image of her fortunes melt Beneath the Tudor's eye, while the grim frown Of her own lords o'ermaster'd her sweet smiles - And nipt her growing gladness, till she mourned, And sank, at last, beneath their cruel wiles; But, ever since, all generous hearts have burned To clear her fame, yea, very babes have yearned Over this saddest story of the isles. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A LETTER TO HER HUSBAND, ABSENT UPON PUBLIC EMPLOYMENT by ANNE BRADSTREET IMITATION OF CHAUCER by ALEXANDER POPE MY FAMILIAR by JOHN GODFREY SAXE FANCY, FR. THE MERCHANT OF VENICE by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE OUR BROTHER'S KEEPER by W. H. ANDERSON THE CLOAK by ANNA LOUISE BARNEY |