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A NOON-DAY DREAM.
XVI.
Alas! that we should see arise,Beneath the nineteenth century skies, That bloody scene, long gone before,Which splashed old England's name with gore—Unhappy Charles! thine ending flingsIts shadow o'er a line of kings; And all thy errors—hapless dead! Have fallen with thy severed head.
THIRD.
XVII.
Upon a golden jewelled throne,King Solomon, the wise,Decides a mother's sacred claimBefore astonished eyes.That mother, proved by cunning test,Receives her infant to her breast.
XVIII.
Again a change comes o'er my dream, A horseman spurs his steedAcross a bright historic stream, With eager, fiery speed,
