When late he humbly knelt for grace,
And clasp’d my knees in close embrace,
Upon his lips a secret hung,
But something seem’d to stay his tongue;
I prest not, for my anger slept,
And fondness only saw he wept;
Ah! fatal haste! then had I known
The serpent, I had sav’d my son! 
Yet surely pardon frank as mine,
A noble heart would more confine! 
When leaguing with my bitter foe,
To strike some grand, decisive blow;
Perhaps to rob me of my throne,
And make it, ere the time, his own;
Or, should wan guilt a danger dread,
To humble this devoted head,
Each throbbing pang of conscience drown,
And seize, with bloody hands, the crown. 
O’er this offence I cast a veil,
And fondly hush’d the whisper’d tale. 
Ah fool! deluded by the grace,
Of that fine form, and perfect face;
I thought his bosom free from sin,
Nor dreamt a demon lurk’d within. 
His voice, which ever could controul,
Each passion of the hearer’s soul,
With ease my partial heart beguil’d,
Who knew no sorrows when he smil’d. 
And ah! my friends, your downcast eyes,
Your pensive air, and smother’d sighs,
All tell me you lament the fate,
Of him, whom yet you cannot hate. 
And shall I bear then to behold,
That form inanimate and cold,
His smiling lips depriv’d of breath,
His eyes for ever clos’d in death! 
Ah no! my heart with anguish swells,
And every throbbing vein rebels. 
Let sorrow weep, or anger thrill,
Yet all the parent triumphs still.

“Oh Father! who in mercy reigns,
If thy all-ruling will ordains,
That my unhappy Cen’lin dies,
Remove the picture from my eyes! 
At the same moment set us free,
Both rebel sons, my God, to thee!”
Thus did the king pour forth his pray’r,
With all the wildness of despair;
Then, stilling every rising sigh,
He calm’d the anguish of his eye,
And though within the burthen lay,
He wip’d the falling tears away.

When lo! there comes a youthful train,
Descending swiftly to the plain,
Drest like the fairest sons of day,
In floating robes and colours gay;
No crested helmets there appear,
No glittering shield or pointed spear,
But youths with honey-suckles crown’d,
Or their fair locks with fillets bound,
Whose circling ranks and varied dyes,
Shew’d like the bow, that gilds the skies. 
Whilst in the van a pair were seen,
Of peerless charms and graceful mien;
One lovely form the Mercians knew,
And gladden’d at the pleasing view,
Who, with the glow of youthful prime,
Had all the majesty of time. 
And beauteous was the fair he led,
As any fabled Grecian maid;
The nymphs who tend Aurora’s car,
And usher in the morning star,
Though made inhabitants of air,
Were not more elegant and fair;
Nor Dian’s ever-healthful train,
When skimming o’er the spacious plain. 
Had not more pure, more lively dyes,
Or brighter lustre in their eyes.