With a very natural loathingLeaving the Sheriff to dream of ropes, From his gloomy cell in a vision elopes, To caper on sunny greens and slopes, Instead of the dance upon nothing.
Thus, even thus, the Countess slept,
While Death still nearer and nearer crept,
Like the Thane who smote the sleeping-
But her mind was busy with early joys,
Her golden treasures and golden toys,
That flash'd a bright
And golden light
Under lids still red with weeping.
The golden doll that she used to hug!
Her coral of gold, and the golden mug!
Her godfather's golden presents!
The golden service she had at her meals,
The golden watch, and chain, and seals,
Her golden scissors, and thread, and reels,
And her golden fishes and pheasants!
The golden guineas in silken purse
And the Golden Legends she heard from her nurse,
Of the Mayor in his gilded carriage—
And London streets that were paved with gold-
And the Golden Eggs that were laid of old—
With each golden thing
To the golden ring
At her own auriferous Marriage!
And still the golden light of the sun
Through her golden dream appear'd to run,
Though the night that roar'd without was one
To terrify seamen or gipsies-
While the moon, as if in malicious mirth,
Kept peeping down at the ruffled earth,
As though she enjoy'd the tempest's birth,
In revenge of her old eclipses.
But vainly, vainly, the thunder fell,
For the soul of the Sleeper was under a spell
That time had lately embitter'd—
The Count, as once at her foot he knelt―
That foot which now he wanted to melt!
But-hush!-'twas a stir at her pillow she felt---
And some object before her glitter'd.
'Twas the Golden Leg!-she knew its gleam!
And up she started, and tried to scream,—
But ev'n in the moment she started-
Down came the limb with a frightful smash,
And, lost in the universal flash
That her eyeballs made at so mortal a crash,
The Spark, call'd Vital, departed!
Gold, still gold! hard, yellow, and cold,
For gold she had lived, and she died for gold—
By a golden weapon-not oaken;
In the morning they found her all alone-
Stiff, and bloody, and cold as stone-
But her Leg, the Golden Leg, was gone,
And the "Golden Bowl was broken!"
Gold-still gold! it haunted her yet—
At the Golden Lion the Inquest met-
Its foreman, a carver and gilder—
And the Jury debated from twelve till three
What the Verdict ought to be,
And they brought it in as Felo de Se,
"Because her own Leg had kill'd her!"
Gold! Gold ! Gold ! Gold!
Bright and yellow, hard and cold,
Molten, graven, hammer'd, and roll'd;
Heavy to get, and light to hold;
Hoarded, barter'd, bought, and sold,
Stolen, borrow'd, squander'd, doled:
Spurn'd by the young, but hugg'd by the old
To the very verge of the churchyard mould;
Price of many a crime untold;
Gold! Gold! Gold! Gold:
Good or bad a thousand-fold!
How widely its agencies vary--
To save to ruin-to curse-to bless-
As even its minted coins express,
Now stamp'd with the image of Good Queen Bess,
And now of a Bloody Mary.
From the Urchin pining
For his Father's knee-
From the lattice shining,
Drive him out to sea!
Let broad leagues dissever Him from yonder foam;— Oh, God! to think Man ever Comes too near his Home!
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