Her speech on this occasion I'd recorded
In my foul copy, and we all agreed * That it was most astonishingly worded,
For one who never learnt to write or read; Yet scope for mirth it might have well afforded To modern misses of our British breed ; And grave blue-stockings would, no doubt, have said "Godiva's heart was better than her head."
Had she at some snug boarding-school been placed
Of modern growth for female education,
She would have had a most uncommon taste,
And I might now have printed her oration.
Her native genius she would then have graced
With stores of every sort of information,
And had, at twelve years old, more general knowledge
Than boys of fifteen gain at Eton College.
She turn'd and left his Lordship sore perplex'd,
He almost question'd if he was awake,
And knew not whether to feel pleas'd or vex'd;
Still less, what step it would be right to take.
He "wonder'd what the Devil she'd do next
Who could so bold a resolution make;"
And felt a sort of shame that he'd consented,
And, for the first time in his life, repented.
But then he felt he never could retract,
(At least he would not-which was much the same)
And if his wife thought proper thus to act,
He could'nt help it-he was not to blame!
So that day, after breakfast, off he pack'd
A Trumpeter (I quite forget his name)
To tell the people, in the market-place,
His wife's intention-and his own disgrace.
*We, the "King of Clubs."-R. H.
It was an idle morn in Coventry,
The people wander'd through the gloomy mart; Labour with hope was o'er, and listlessly
Their footsteps travers'd each unheeded part; Despair was yielding fast to apathy
They were prepar'd to die,-and every heart Its weight of woe had half forgot to feel,— When in their ears shrill rung a trumpet-peal.
There was a sudden crowding round the space
Whence the sound came and then from man to man,
Throughout the full and spacious market-place,
A sudden, cold, electric shudder ran;
And each glanc'd quickly on his neighbour's face,
As if the working of his thought to scan,—
And then in every countenance were blent
Joy, love, and anger, and astonishment.
A breathless pause succeeded, then arose
A low and gathering murmur in the crowd, Like the far peal that breaks the dread repose
Cast by the shadow of a thunder-cloud :
And fast and far that thrilling murmur flows
On through the multitude yet grows not loud—
Slowly it died, and nought but trampling feet
Of crowds dispersing sounded in the street.
Noon came, yet ne'er in Coventry had reign'd
At deepest midnight silence so profound;
In the wide streets no human form remain'd,
It seem'd as Death had swallow'd all around :
It was like that enchanted city, feign'd
In Oriental Tales, where all were bound
In magic slumbers, and transform'd to stone-
A story pretty generally known.
What were Godiva's thoughts at that dread hour
In her lone chamber? Silent did she kneel,
Her deep blue eyes rais'd meekly to the Power
Of Heaven, in dumb, yet eloquent appeal.
Thus pray'd the gentle lady in her bower,
Till o'er her sorrows peace began to steal,
And the calm rapture of the silent skies
Had sunk into her spirit through her eyes.
The lady rose from prayer, with cheek o'erflush'd,
And eyes all radiant with celestial fire,
The anguish'd beatings of her heart were hush'd,
So calmly heavenward did her thoughts aspire.
A moment's pause-and then she deeply blush'd,
As, trembling, she unclasp'd her rich attire,
And, shrinking from the sunlight, shone confest
The ripe and dazzling beauties of her breast,
And when her white and radiant limbs lay bare,
The fillet from her brow the dame unbound,
And let the traces of her raven hair
Flow down in wavy lightness to the ground,
Till half they veil'd her limbs and bosom fair,
In dark and shadowy beauty floating round,
As clouds, in the still firmament of June,
Shade the pale splendors of the midnight Moon.
But then her spirit fell when thus alone
She stood in the deep silence of her bower, And felt that there she was beheld by none
Save One unknown, supreme, eternal Power. She dar'd not raise her meek eyes, trembling one, Again from earth; she could have wish'd that hour Rather in view of thousands to have stood,
Than in that still and awful solitude.
Away-away, with wild and hurried pace,
Through many a long and echoing room she stole ;
No voice arrests her ear, no human face
Bursts on the dreamy wildness of her soul.
All silent now is that proud dwelling-place,—
On-on she presses till she reach the goal;
The portal's past-she sees her palfrey stand,
Held by a weak and weeping maiden's hand.
Away, away!-the Lady hath departed;
The freedom of the land will soon be won:
Rejoice, ye wrong'd, and spurn'd, and broken-hearted,
Rejoice! for your deliverance is begun.
It's full five minutes since Godiva started,
She'll be among you before half-past one; Therefore, take care, both bachelors and spouses, All but the blind, to keep within your houses.
Godiva pass'd, but all had disappear'd,
Each in his dwelling's innermost recess :
One would have thought all mortal eyes had fear'd
To gaze upon her dazzling loveliness.
Sudden her palfrey stopp'd, and neigh'd, and rear'd,
And prick'd his ears-as if he would express
That there was something wicked in the wind d;
Godiva trembled and held fast behind.
And here I also must remark that this is
With ladies very frequently the case,
And beg to hint to all Equestrian Misses,
That horses' backs are not their proper place.
A woman's forte is music-love—or kisses,
Not leaping gates, or galloping a racė ;
I used sometimes to ride with them of yore,
And always found them an infernal bore.
The steed grew quiet, and a piercing cry
Burst on Godiva's ear;-she started, and
Beheld a man, who, in a window high,
Shaded his dim eyes with his trembling hand.
He had been led by curiosity
To see her pass, and there had ta'en his stand;
And as he gaz'd ('tis thus the story's read),
His eye-balls sunk and shrivell'd in his head.
LXV.
I know not, gentles, whether this be true;
If so, you'll own the punishment was just ;
Poor wretch!-full dearly had he cause to rue
His prying temper, or unbridled lust.
No more could he his daily toil pursue-
He was a tinker-but his tools might rust,
He might dispose of all his stock of metal,
For ne'er, thenceforward, could he mend a kettle.
Alas! poor Peeping Tom!-Godiva kept
And fed him.-Reader, now my tale is told;
I need not state how all the peasants wept,
And laugh'd, and blest their Countess-young and old.
That night Godiva very soundly slept-
I grieve to add she caught a trifling cold;
Leofric's heart was so extremely full,
He roasted for the populace a bull.
There stood an ancient cross at Coventry,
Pull'd down, of late, by order of the Mayor,
Because 'twas clear its downfall must be nigh,
And 'twould be too expensive to repair ;
It bore two figures carv'd-and you might spy
Beneath them grav'd, in letters large and fair,
Godiva, Leofric, for love of thee,
Both make henceforth fair Coventry toll free.
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