Page:Blackwood's Magazine volume 046.djvu/784

768 Much had she read in history's glazing page, Much had been taught in her brief pupillage. The dancing of the young and lovely Queen Was like Titania's on the fairy green; In all the graces feminine she shone, Though she could ride like quiver'd Amazon; The soul of music from her lute she call'd, And every hearer's ear and heart enthrall'd. Her calm clear brow, her soft but piercing eye, Her gestures, voice, proclaim'd the royalty Of her high being: wheresoe'er she moved She was a creature seen to be beloved. She was the nation's bright peculiar star, Loved by those near her, worshipp'd from afar; Pure as the dove, by Jordan's holy stream, Bright as the Dian of a poet's dream, A princess on her people's weal intent, A glowing beauty, young and innocent! Alas for Argenis! she did not know What hurtful things around a palace grow; What noxious reptiles, with injurious aim, Protend their feelers round a royal frame. Honest of heart, with pure intentions fraught, Of apprehension quick, and ready thought; Suspicionless, herself without disguise, Mistrusting not her well-pleased ears and eyes, How could she think a dangerous faction bound her, And, while they cringed, threw treacherous meshes round her? Alas that honesty should be deceived, That flattery more than truth should be believed! Alas that Argenis, the royal maid, Should be by her false favourites betray'd!

Whilst yet the Sicels were in war engaged, Amongst themselves no fierce contentions raged; But madness seized the giddy multitude, Soon as the foreign tyrant was subdued. What they esteem'd before was now but dross, And victory by some was deem'd a loss. Oh crooked souls! down drooping to the ground, Empty of heavenly things, unclean, unsound! Then a lewd faction, stung with long disgrace, Against the laws stirr'd up the populace; Batter'd the state, and, out of public zeal, Broke down the fences of the common weal; Made charters void, and at the altar strook The bishop's mitre, and the pastor's crook; And he who saved them from the public foe Was doom'd their basest, fiercest hate to know: Nor for a moment paused this currish band In scattering firebrands through their native land, Till royalty became a scorned thing, And a brute rabble jostled lord and king. The leaders of the mob, for place and gain, Inflamed the passions they could not restrain; And even peers of generous blood were known To make disorder's guilty cause their own. The prince, a man too easy for the time, With a good-humour'd scorn indulged the crime, Till he discover'd, when it was too late, Their object was the ruin of the state.