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A sudden winter, while the sun is near,
O'ercomes the season, and inverts the year.

But whither is the captive borne away,
The beauteous captive! from the cheerful day?
The scene is chang'd indeed; before her eyes
Ill-boding looks and unknown horrors rise:

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For pomp and splendour, for her guard and crown,
A gloomy dungeon, and a keeper's frown:
Black thoughts each morn invade the lover's breast;
Each night a ruffian locks the Queen to rest.

Ah mournful change, if judg'd by vulgar minds!
But Suffolk's daughter its advantage finds.
Religion's force divine is best display'd

In deep desertion of all human aid:

To succour in extremes is her delight,

And cheer the heart when terror strikes the sight.
We, disbelieving our own senses gaze,

And wonder what a mortal's heart can raise
To triumph o'er misfortunes, smile in grief,
And comfort those who come to bring relief:
We gaze, and, as we gaze, wealth, fame, decay,
And all the world's vain glories fade away.

Against her cares she rais'd a dauntless mind,
And with an ardent heart, but most resign'd,
Deep in the dreadful gleam, with pious heat,
Amid the silence of her dark retreat,
Address'd her God---" Almighty Pow'r Divine!
669 Tis thine to raise, and to depress is thine;

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"With honour to light up the name unknown, "Or to put out the lustre of a throne.

"In my short span both fortunes I have prov'd, "And tho' with ill frail nature will be mov'd, "I'll bear it well: (O strengthen me to bear!) "And if my piety may claim thy care, "If I remember', in youth's giddy heat, "And tur..alt of a court, a future state, "O favour, when thy mercy I implore, "For one who never guilty sceptre bore! 66 ''Twas I receiv'd the crown; my lord is free; "If it must fall, let vengeance fall on me: "Let him survive, his country's name to raise, "And in a guilty land to speak thy praise! "O may th' indulgence of a father's love, "Pour'd forth on me, be doubled from above! "If these are safe, I'll think my pray'rs succeed, "And bless thy tender mercies whilst I bleed." 'Twas now the mournful eve before that day In which the Queen to her full wrath gave way; Thro' rigid justice rush'd into offence,

And drank, in zeal, the blood of innocence.

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The sun went down in clouds, and seem'd to mourn

The sad necessity of his return;

The hollow wind, and melancholy rain,

Or did, or was imagin'd to complain;
The tapers cast an inauspicious light;

Stars there were none, and doubly dark the night.

Volume 111.

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Sweet innocence in chains can take her rest;
Soft slumber gently creeping thro' her breast,
She sinks; and in her sleep is re-enthron'd,
Mock'd by a gaudy dream, and vainly crown'd.
She views her fleets and armies, seas and land,
And stretches wide her shadow of command:
With royal purple is her vision hung;
By phantom hosts are shouts of conquest rung;
Low at her feet the suppliant rival lies;
Our pris'ner mourns her fate, and bids her rise.
Now level beams upon the waters play'd,
Glanc'd on the hills, and westward cast the shade;
The busy trades in City had began

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To sound, and speak the painful life of man.

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In tyrants' breasts the thoughts of vengeance rouse,
And the fond bridegroom turns him to his spouse.
At this first birth of light, while morning breaks,
Qur spouseless bride, our widow'd wife awakes;
Awakes, and smiles; nor night's imposture blames;
Her real pomps were little more than dreams;
A short-Lv'd blaze, a lightning quickly o'er,
That dy'd in birth, that shone and were no more:
She turns her side, and soon resumes a state
Of mind well suited to her alter'd fate,
Serene, tho' serious, when dread tidings come
(Ah wretched Guilford!) of her instant doom.
Sun! hide thy beams; in clouds as black as night
Thy face involve; be guiltless of the sight;

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Or haste more swiftly to the western main,
Nor let her blood the conscious daylight stain!

Oh! how severe! to fall so new a bride,

Yet blushing from the priest, in youthful pride;
When Time had just matur'd each perfect grace,
And open'd all the wonders of her face!
To leave her Guildford dead to all relief,
Fond of his woe, and obstinate in grief.
Unhappy fair! whatever Fancy drew,
(Vain pronlis'd blessings) vanish from her view;
No train of cheerful days, endearing nights,
No sweet domestic joys, and chaste delights;
Pleasures that blossom ev'n from doubts and fears,
And bliss and rapture rising out of cares:
No little Guilford, with paternal grace,
Lull'd on her knee, or smiling in her face;
Who, when her dearest father shall return,
From pouting tears on her untimely urn,
Might comfort to his silver hairs impart,
And fill her place in his indulgent heart;
As where fruits fall, quick-rising blossoms smile,
And the bless'd Indian of his cares beguile.

In vain these various reasons jointly press
To blacken death, and heighten her distress;
She thro' th' encircling terrors darts her sight
To the bless'd regions of eternal light,

And fills her soul with peace: to weeping friends
Her father and her lord she recommends,

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Unmov'd herself: her foes her air survey,

And rage to see their malice thrown away.

She soars; now nought on earth detains her care---But Guilford, who still struggles for his share.

Still will his form importunately rise,

Clog and retard her transport to the skies.
As trembling flames now take a feeble flight,
Now catch the brand with a returning light,
Thus her soul onward, from the seats above
Falls fondly back, and kindles into love.
At length she conquers in the doubtful field:
That Heav'n she seeks will be her Guilford's shield.
Now death is welcome: his approach is slow;
'Tis tedious longer to expect the blow.

Oh, Mortals! short of sight, who think the past
O'erblown misfortune still shall prove the last:
Alas! misfortunes travel in a train,

And oft' in life form one perpetual chain:"
Fear buries fear, and ills on ills attend,

Till life and sorrow meet one common end.

She thinks that she has nought but death to fear,

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And death is conquer'd. Worse than death is near
Her rigid trials are not yet complete;

The news arrives of her great father's fate.
She sees his hoary head, all white with age,
A victim to th' offended monarch's rage.
How great the mercy, had she breath'd her last
Ere the dire sentence on her father past!

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