The Poetical Works of William Lisle Bowles Volume Ii Part 32

POEMS,

INEDITED, UNPUBLISHED, ETC.

POEMS, INEDITED, UNPUBLISHED, ETC.

THE SANCTUARY:

A DRAMATIC SKETCH.

In this wise the Duke of Gloucester took upon himself the order and governance of the young King, whom, with much honour and humble reverence, he conveyed towards London. But the tidings of this matter came hastily to the Queen, a little before the midnight following; and that, in secret wise, her son was taken, her brother and other friends arrested, and sent no man wist whither, to be done with G.o.d wot what. With which tidings the Queen, with great heaviness, bewailed her child's reign, her friend's mischance, and her own misfortune, d.a.m.ning the time that ever she dissuaded the gathering of powers about the King; got herself, in all haste possible, with her young son and her daughter, out of the palace of Westminster, in which they then lay, into the Sanctuary; lodging herself and company there in the Abbott's place.--_Speed's_ "History of England," book ix.

SCENE I.

_Elizabeth, widow of Edward IV., in the palace of Westminster, watching her youngest son, Richard, sleeping._

ELIZ. The minster-clock tolls midnight; I have watched Night after night, and heard the same sad sound Knolling; the same sad sound, night after night; As if, amid the world's deep silence, Time, Pausing a moment in his onward flight, From yonder solitary, moonlit pile, More awful spoke, as with a voice from heaven, Of days and hours departed, and of those That "are not;" till, like dreams of yesterday, The very echo dies!

Oh, my poor child!

Thou hast been long asleep; by the pale lamp I sit and watch thy slumbers; thy calm lids Are closed; thy lips just parted; one hand lies Upon thy breast, that scarce is seen to heave Beneath it; and thy breath so still is drawn, Save to a sleepless mother's listening ear, It were inaudible; and, see! a smile Seems even now lighting on thy lip, dear boy, As thou wert dreaming of delightful things In some celestial region of sweet sounds, Or summer fields, and skies without a cloud; (Ah! how unlike this dark and troubled world!) Let not one kiss awaken thee, one kiss, Mingled with tears and prayer to G.o.d in heaven.

So dream; and never, never may those eyes Awake suffused with tears, as mine are now, To think that life's best hopes are such a dream!

Now sleeps the city through its vast extent, That, restless as the ocean-waves, at morn, With its ten thousand voices shall awake, Lifting the murmur of its mult.i.tude To heaven's still gate! Now all is hushed as death; None are awake, save those who wake to weep, Like me; save those who meditate revenge, Or beckon muttering Murder. G.o.d of heaven!

From the hyena panting for their blood, Oh save my youthful Edward! and, poor child!

Preserve thy innocence to happier hours.

Hark! There is knocking at the western gate.

_A messenger enters, and announces to her that her brother had been arrested on the road, by the Duke of Glo'ster._

ELIZ. O my poor child, thou sleepest now in peace!

Wilt thou sleep thus another year? shall I Hang o'er thee with a mother's look of love, Thus bend beside thy bed, thus part the hair Upon thy forehead, and thus kiss thy cheek?

Richard, awake! the tiger is abroad.

We must to sanctuary instantly.

_Richard awaking._

RICH. Oh! I have had the sweetest dreams, dear mother!

Methought my brother Edward and myself And--

ELIZ. Come, these are no times to talk of dreams; We must to sanctuary, my poor boy; We'll talk of dreams hereafter. Kneel with me.

_Takes him from his couch, and kisses him._

RICH. Mother, why do you weep and tremble so?

ELIZ. I have a pain at heart! Come, stir thee, boy!

Lift up thy innocent hands to Heaven; here kneel And pray with me before this crucifix.

_Her daughters enter, and they all kneel together_.

SCENE II.

_The Sanctuary at Westminster_.

RICH. O my dear mother! why do we sit here, Amid these dusky walls and arches dim, When it is summer in the fields without, And suns.h.i.+ne? Say, is not my brother king, Why will he not come here to play with me; Shall I not see my brother?

ELIZ. My own child, Oh! let me hide these tears upon thy head!

Thy brother, shalt thou see him? Yes, I hope.

Come, I will tell a tale:--There was a boy Who had a cruel uncle--

RICH. I have heard My uncle Glo'ster was a cruel man; But he was always kind to me, and said That I should be a king, if Edward died; I'd rather be a bird to fly away, Or sing--

ELIZ. The serpent's eye of fire, With slow and deadly glare, poor bird, I fear, Is fixed on thee and Edward--G.o.d avert it!

RICH. And therefore must not I go out to play?

ELIZ. Go, play among the tombs--I will go too; Go, play with skulls and bones; or see the train Of sceptred kings come slowly through the gloom, And widowed queens move in the shroud of death Along the glimmering aisles and hollow vaults.

Would I were with them--I shall be so soon!

RICH. Mother, methought I saw him yesterday--

ELIZ. Saw whom?

RICH. My father; and he seemed to look-- I cannot say how sadly. Could it be His spirit? He was armed, but very pale And sorrowful his countenance. I heard No sound of footsteps when he moved away And disappeared among the distant tombs In further darkness.

ELIZ. O my son, my son!

Thou hadst a king thy father--he is dead; Thou hadst been happier as a peasant's child!

RICH. Oh! how I wish I were a shepherd's boy, For then, dear mother! I would run and play With Edward; and we two, in primrose-time, Would wander out among the villages, Or go a-Maying by some river's side, And mark the minnow-shoals, when morning shone Upon the yellow gravel, shoot away Beneath the old gray arch, or bring home cowslips For all my sisters, for Elizabeth, And you, dear mother, if you would not weep so.

ELIZ. Richard, break not my heart; give me your hand, And kneel with me by this cold monument.

Spirit of my loved husband, now in heaven, If, at this moment, thou dost see thy son, And me, thus broken-hearted,--oh! if aught Yet human touches thee, a.s.sist these prayers, That him, and me, and my poor family, G.o.d, in the hour of peril, may protect!

Let not my heart yet break.

Come, my poor boy!

SCENE III.

_The Cardinal of York_[196]--_Queen--Richard_.