The Kings And Queens Of England With Other Poems Part 1

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, wishing 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.

For death to whom she had sent many a one, Now called for his victim, and made her his own.

Not by _fire_ and by _f.a.ggot_ was _she_ hurried away, But by painful sickness and loathsome decay.

Now commences the reign of the "Good Queen Bess,"

But _why_ she's called _good_ I never could guess: Yet justice constrains me to allow in the main, That her's was a glorious and most prosperous reign.

She had the good sense to know whom to admit To her private councils, as men the most fit; And by their advice, good sense and discretion, She managed with _fitness_ to govern the nation.

As a Queen she seems great, though _weak_ as a woman, And when praised as a _G.o.ddess_, was no more than human; At the age of threescore, she loved to be compared As a beauty to Venus, though crook'd and red haired.

Of lovers she had full many a one, Who sought, through her hand, a pa.s.s to the throne, But chose to remain single; for full well she knew, That in giving her hand, she gave away her power too.

In this reign we find ineffacible blots, In the treatment of Ess.e.x, and Mary of Scots; The death of the former, the Queen sorely repents, And for her lost Ess.e.x she deeply laments.

The remorse of a Countess, in keeping his ring, I leave to some rhymer, more able to sing.

Next James sixth of Scotland, _first_ of England became-- In peace and security permitted to reign.

In the person of James, two crowns were united, And England and Scotland remain undivided.

With this king the reign of the Stuarts began, And continued to the end of the reign of Queen Ann.

In the reign of Charles first, commences a strife Between King and Parliament, that ends but with life; This poor King was beheaded, his son had to flee, And in his place Oliver Cromwell we see.

Now in Cromwell the ruler of England we find; Right or wrong, I never could make up my mind; Still all must allow (for deny it who can?) That this same Oliver was a very great man.

In eleven years the days of the Commonwealth ended.

And gay Charles the second, the throne then ascended.

This second king Charles king of hearts might be call'd, For many a fair one he seems t' have enthrall'd.

James second, brother of Charles second succeeded, But after a reign of four years, he seceded; When quitting his throne, and his country he flies Over the channel to France, where he dies.

Next the Prince of Orange, (from Holland he came,) For the crown of old England, a.s.serted his claim Through right of his wife, Princess Mary by name.

And William the third with Mary his wife Are crowned King and Queen of England for life.

This princess was lovely in person and mind, As a wife most devoted, a _friend ever_ kind.

Queen Ann's is the next reign that in order appears And it covers the s.p.a.ce of thirteen full years.

Her death brought the reign of the Stuarts to a close, But firm on their ruins, the House of Hanover rose.

With this house the reign of the Georges begins-- And four in succession we count up as Kings.

George the third, grandson of the second, so called, Was for virtues and goodness of heart much extolled.

His reign the longest of any appears, Bearing t.i.tle of king for sixty-two years.

But when aged four score, this good king we find Bereft of his senses and hearing, and blind.

In this reign America declared herself free, And independent of rulers over the sea.

At length death relieved him, and he was cut down, To make way for his eldest and libertine son.

But though of talent acknowledged the son possessed more, The _sire's heart was good_, the _son's corrupt at the core_; Though admired for his beauty, and manners, and wit, As a husband and father he never was fit.

But before we pa.s.s on to the next reign in course, We have a most sorrowful tale to rehea.r.s.e, Of the young princess Charlotte, next heir to the crown, In the spring time of life, scarce with warning cut down.

If ever the nation were mourners sincere, 'Twas when they united around the sad bier Of this youthful princess so deservedly dear; And stout-hearted men unaccustomed to mourn, Let bitter tears fall, as they gazed on her urn.

But who can describe the anguish of one, The heart-stricken husband apart and alone.

As the sun of his happiness rose to its height, Death enters his dwelling, and lo! it is night; The light of his house forever has fled, For his loved one, his dearest, lies low with the dead.

In the _same_ day all his fair prospects were crossed, When a _wife_, and a _son_, and a _kingdom_ he lost.

Next William the fourth, is proclaimed Britain's king, For between him and his brother two deaths intervene.

No _legitimate_ child did he leave in possession Of the Crown of old England, in right of succession; So the diadem pa.s.sed to the youthful brow Of his niece Queen Victoria, who honors it now; And for her we wish, as our rhyming we close, A _long, peaceful reign_--an old age of repose.

Written while on a visit at Brooklyn, N.Y., 1851.

TO MY DAUGHTER ELIZABETH.