Poems (Holford)/Carisbrooke: a Ballad
CARISBROOKE:
A BALLAD.
Now woe to yon castle's ruthless tow'r!Now woe to yon rugged wall!And tenfold woe to the dreary hourWhich beheld our king in thrall;
Oh Carisbrook! how thou smilest now,Like a rebel bold and gay!Ah soon may the ivy on thy browCreep over thy ruins grey!
Then, he who views thy mouldering gate,And stands in thy desert hall,Shall breathe a curse on the rebel hateWhich decreed our martyr's fall:
Whenever thy battlements shall lieInglorious in the dust,Each Briton who marks thy destinyShall smile on a fate so just!
'Twas the dull and dusky twilight hour,When close to his window grate,Catching the breath of an April show'rThe captive sovereign sate:
A tear glisten'd bright in Stuart's eye,And his cheek was deadly pale, And his bosom answer'd ev'ry sighHeav'd by the evening gale.
His cheek was pale, and his princely eyeWas fill'd with memory's tears,As he ponder'd on the destinyWhich flatter'd his early years;
He thought on the friends for him who died,Yet was not that pang the worst;He thought on friends who had left his side,And felt as his heart would burst!
But he shudder'd, as in looking backOn the days forever lost,Reflection 'mid the shadowy trackMet Strafford's headless ghost!
What armour can that breast defendFrom Memory's home-struck blows?The shade of one deserted friend,Outfrowns a thousand foes!
It plagues us in the silent hour,It haunts us as we sleep,It stays the heart-relieving show'r,And mocks us as we weep!
The crown from off his sacred headBy rebels rudely torn,An exil'd wife, and children fled,The christian King had borne!
But when to Heaven he look'd and pray'dTo heal his agony, Still murmur'd in his ear the shade—"Thus did I hope in thee!"
Yet Stuart weep not! in yon skies,Where thou shalt quickly be,Say, can thy loyal servant prizeA life-drop shed for thee?
Oh! the red-drop, the transient groan,The struggle and farewel,Were quickly pass'd, forever gone,And but with memory dwell:
Nay, in that last, stern, bitter hour,Even as the spirit fled,The noble victim felt its pow'r,And gloried as he bled!
Oh! thickens fast the twilight shade,Yet Stuart's aching eyePursues the dim lights as they fadeAlong the silent sky:
Now all are gone! each glimm'ring rayHas vanish'd in the west,And all in night and silence layLike Stuart's dreary breast!
Bending to earth, behold the browWhich holy balsam steep'd,Oppress'd beneath a load of woe,By heartless traitors heap'd!
Oh! spare him England! yet too lateThe loyal hearts appeal! E'en now he drains the cup of hate,And feels what wretches feel!
If ever tyrant's irksome reignOh England! blot thy throne,Bethink thee then, of Stuart's pain,And Heav'n's justice own!
If ever—but indignant lay,Shalt thou prescribe to Heaven!The traitor swarm is swept away,And England is forgiven!
Time, thro' thy mist, with daring eyeEven now the Bard can trace,The hour when many a realm shall lieUprooted from its base.
While Britain stems the storm alone,Free 'mid a world of slaves,Firm on her ocean-planted throne,The empire of the waves!