Poor Lucy Walters! who remembers thee? Thy name is lost, though on thy native hill Perchance they know it, yea, and see thee still; But, in the outer world, how few there be To speak of Monmouth's mother! To thy door The tempter came, and thy young heart beguil'd; Then came the birth of that half-royal child, Who, when his feeble battle-shout was o'er, Crept into lone Shag's Heath from lost Sedgemoor; Then fell his kinsman's axe, whose triple blow Thy spirit still hears! sore penance for that tryst Of shame, which brought thy motherhood of woe; Or sighs, at breaking of the mountain-mist, To view each morn, the headsman's world below. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HOMING BRAVES by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON NINETY-NINE IN THE SHADE by ROSSITER JOHNSON SHUT OUT by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI I SHALL LIVE TO BE OLD by SARA TEASDALE IN AN OLD CEMETERY by LILLAH A. ASHLEY |