Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE CHILDREN OF HENRY THE FIRST, by LYDIA HUNTLEY SIGOURNEY


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE CHILDREN OF HENRY THE FIRST, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Light sped a bark from gallia's strand
Last Line: The smile sat never more.
Subject(s): Henry I, King Of England (1068-1135)


LIGHT sped a bark from Gallia's strand
Across the azure main,
And on her deck a joyous band, --
A proud and courtly train,
Surrounded Albion's princely heir,
Who toward his realm returned;
And music's cheering strain was there,
And hearts with pleasure burned.

It was a fair and glorious sight
That gallant bark to see,
With floating streamers, glittering bright
In pomp of chivalry;
The smooth sea bless'd her as she flew,
The gentle gale impelled,
As if each crested billow knew
What wealth her bosom held.

But strangely o'er the summer sky
A sable cloud arose,
And hollow winds, careering high,
Rushed on like armed foes.
Loud thunders roll, wild tempests rave,
Red lightnings cleave the sky, --
What is yon wreck amid the wave?
And whence that fearful cry?

See! see! amid the foaming surge
There seems a speck to float,
And, with such speed as oars can urge,
Toils on the laboring boat.
The Prince is safe -- but to his ear
There came a distant shriek,
Which to his strained eye brought the tear,
And paleness to his cheek.

That voice! 'twas by his cradle side,
When with sweet dream he slept, --
It ruled his wrath, it soothed his pride,
When moody boyhood wept.
'Twas with him in his hour of glee,
Gay sports, and pastimes rare;
And at his sainted mother's knee,
Amid the evening prayer.

Plunging, he dared the breakers hoarse, --
None might the deed restrain, --
And battled, with a maniac's force,
The madness of the main.
He snatched his sister from the wreck, --
Faint was her accent dear,
Yet strong her white arms twined his neck, --
"Blest William! art thou here?"

The wild waves swelled like mountains on,
The blasts impetuous sweep;
Where is the heir of England's throne?
Go, -- ask the insatiate deep!
He sleeps in Ocean's coral grove,
Pale pearls his bed adorn,
A martyr to that hallowed love
Which with his life was born.

Woe was in England's halls that day,
Woe in her royal towers,
While low her haughty monarch lay,
To wail his smitten flowers:
And, though protracted years bestow
Bright honor's envied store,
Yet on that crowned and lofty brow
The smile sat never more.





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