Part 1 (1/2)
The Kings and Queens of England with Other Poems.
by Mary Ann H. T. Bigelow.
PREFACE.
I must claim the indulgence of my friends for the many defects they will find in my poems, which they will please wink at, remembering that I was sixty years old when I commenced rhyming; and this by way of experiment, while on a visit to my daughter, in Brooklyn.
My first essay, was The Monarchs of England. I took it up for my amus.e.m.e.nt, wis.h.i.+ng to ascertain how much of that history I could recollect without help from any other source than memory.
The rhyme is in many places far from smooth, and there are many redundances that might with advantage be lopped off; and were it to come under the critic's eye to be reviewed, I should feel it quite necessary to improve it, (the poetry, I mean.) But as it would require quite too much exertion for my eyes in their present state, and as the history, dates, &c., I believe, are correct, I send it to the press ”with all its imperfections on its head.”
POEMS.
THE KINGS AND QUEENS OF ENGLAND,
FROM THE BATTLE OF HASTINGS OR THE NORMAN CONQUEST, TO THE PRESENT REIGN, INCLUSIVE.
First, William the Norman lays claim to the crown And retains it till death; then follows his son The red headed William, whose life is cut short By a shot from his friend, when hunting for sport.
Then Henry his brother takes quiet possession, As Henry the first, of the great English nation.
Next Stephen, a kinsman gets the crown by his might, But no one pretends to say he had a right.
Then comes Hal the second, who cuts a great figure With Becket, fair Rosamond and Queen Eliner.
The Lion-hearted _Richard_, first of that name, Succeeded his father in power and in fame; He joined the Crusade to a far distant land But his life was cut short by a murderous hand.
Next comes the _cruel_ and _cowardly_ John, From whose hand, reluctant, Magna Charta was won.
Then his son Henry third, deny it who can?
Though unfit for a King, was yet a good man, And his reign though a long one of fifty-six years Was full of perplexities, sorrows, and fears.
His son Edward first next governs the nation, Much respected and feared, in holding that station.
The Princ.i.p.ality of Wales was annexed in his reign, And his son Edward second, first Prince of that name.
But what shall I say of King Edward the third, The most remarkable reign, that yet had occurred; Fire arms in the war, were _first_ used in his reign, And the battle of _Cressy_ of great note and fame, To their introduction has the right to lay claim.
The knights of the Garter, first made in his reign In honor it seems of a fair English dame, The d.u.c.h.ess of Salisbury to whom it is said, From Edward _peculiar_ attentions were paid.
Of Richard the second we have little to say, And take up the fourth Henry, the next on our way, Who reigned fourteen years, when death cut him down And left his good Kingdom to Henry his son; But ere nine years had past, the fifth Henry was borne To the region of darkness from whence none return.
The next reign is full of commotion and strife, And Henry the sixth is seen flying for life; For though King of England, we cannot but see He's but the shadow of a king--that _should_ be; And during the thirty-nine years that he reigned His crown and his sceptre were feebly retained.
It was in this reign on her mission intent, That Joan of Arc to the battle field went: The French troops were elated, the English dismayed At the wonderful victories achieved by her aid; At length fortune turns, and 'tis needless to tell Of the fate of this maiden--it is all known too well.
Of Edward the fourth it seems proper to say That he fancied Dame Sh.o.r.e, when wed to Bess Gray.
But the fate of Jane Sh.o.r.e, should be warning to all Who from love, or ambition, are tempted to fall.
When Edward the fourth departed this earth, He left two little sons, both Royal by birth; But ere three years had pa.s.s'd, both met with their doom, By a most cruel uncle, cut down in their bloom Of youth, love, and beauty, and laid in the tomb.
King Edward the fifth was the eldest one's name, Though never permitted by his uncle to reign.
Next comes cruel Richard, the third of that name, Whose vices surpa.s.sing put others to shame.
When unhorsed in battle, he's so anxious to live, That he cries ”for a horse, my kingdom I'll give.”
But in the same battle he had his last fall-- Lamented by none, but detested by all.
In the next reign the wars of the roses, all ended, And the red rose and white, forever were blended; For when Henry the seventh took Bessy his bride, The knot of the roses forever was tied; And when the sceptre descended from father to son, The red and the white leaves all mingled in one.
King Henry the eighth had quite a long reign Mixed up with his Anne's, his Katy's and Jane.
But from this King we turn with disgust and with shame, And greet with delight, the sixth Edward by name.
But only six years did this King fill the throne, When called to resign it and lay his crown down.
A worthier we think, has never set On the throne of Great Britain--at least not as yet.
With pleasure we love to contemplate him now, With a bright crown of Glory, encircling his brow, In the region of _light, love, peace_, and of joy, Where pleasures eternal can have no alloy.
Sin, sickness, and death, never find entrance there, For the air is all balm, and the skies ever fair; The clouds of his young life have all pa.s.sed away And he enjoys the full light of an endless day-- For all who find footing on that peaceful sh.o.r.e, Shall hunger, and thirst, and sorrow no more.
But once more we return to this ”dim speck of earth,”
And revisit the clime that gave Edward his birth.
b.l.o.o.d.y Mary his sister, next mounted the throne, But when five years had pa.s.s'd, was obliged to lay down, Notwithstanding reluctance, her Sceptre and Crown.