The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 20, No. 576, November 17, 1832 - Various

He comes!'tis he!and by his side
Attend a noble band
He comes to claim his royal bride
His lov'd Elfrida's hand.

The wish'd-for hour is gone and past;
Slow chimes the marriage-bell;
May Heav'n forbid it prove his last
The bridegroom's fun'ral knell!

The priest before the altar stands
The bride bends on her knee,
And lifts to God her heart and hands
In pious fervency!

But where is he, who should have knelt
Before his Maker, low?
And where are they, who might have felt
What none but parents know!

In vain she waits, and looks around,
Still vainer are her cries;
With shrieks the sacred aisles resound;
Save echo, naught replies:

Fell grief her throbbing heart enthrals,
Her lips grow ghastly pale;
She weepsshe faintsand senseless falls
Before the altar-rail!

But where is he, by whom the vows
Of love were pledg'd so late?
Demand of Offa's artful spouse,
Whose fiat seal'd his fate?

The blush of guilt upon her cheek
Spreads forth its purple hues,
And agitation seems to speak
What conscience dares refuse!

To Him who gives life's fleeting breath
His soul has ta'en its flight!
He sleeps the last long sleep of death
Upon his bridal night.

His guards were gone;no friends were near
To bless him ere he died!
None, none to dry the falling tear,
Or bid his pains subside.

Oh! where is she whom fate hath made
Dejected and forlorn?
She goes to Croyland's hallow'd shade,
To livealas!to mourn!

Weep, Anglia, weep!thy monarch's dead!
To heav'n his spirit's flown;
And he whose hands his blood have shed
Will mount thy vacant throne.

He reigns!but mark! how self-reproach
Pervades his inmost breast;
And pangs of sad remorse encroach
Upon his fever'd rest.

He livesbut life has little left,
If aught, his love to claim;
Of all, save grief, 'tis now bereft;
To him 'tis but a name!