Sonnet on Madam Malibian

‘Twas but as yesterday, a mighty throng
Whose hearts, as one man’s heart, thy power could bow,
Amid loud shouting hailed thee “Queen of Long”
And twined sweet summer flowers around thy brow.

And those loud shouts have scarcely died away,
And those young flowers but half forgot their bloom,
When thy fair crown is changed for one of clay,
Thy boundless empire for a narrow tomb.

Sweet mistress of the Heart! we list in vain
For music now – Thy melody is o’er
Fidelio had ceas’d o’er hearts to reign,
Tommambula had slept to rise no more.

Farewell! thy sun of life too soon has set
But morning shall reflect its brightness yet.

 “Personally, I like this one but I am not sure what it means. Who was Madam Malibian, anyway?”

“I don’t know, but I think if we research it, we can find out, if it is important.,” said Charlotte.

“I think it is about a woman who dies before her time – a famous woman, and we are left to speculate whether she will be remembered.”

“I think we should put this one in the “promising” pile,” said Eveline.

“All right,” agreed Charlotte, “and now you read the next one for us Eveline.”

This world is but a fleeting show
In grand illusion given,
The smiles of joy, the tears of woe,
Deceitful shine, deceitful flow
There’s nothing true but heaven!

And folds the light on glory’s plume,
As fading hues of eve’n;
And love and hope and beauty’s bloom,
Are blossoms gathered for the tomb,
There’s nothing bright but heaven!

Poor wanderer of a stormy day
From wave to wave we’re driven;
And fancy’s flash and reason’s ray.
Serve but to light the troubled way
There’s nothing calm but heaven.

“Another depressing one,” said May. Your great grandmother must have had a very unhappy life, and everything has gone wrong. She really sounds sad. Was she like that, Muriel?”

“I don’t think so, but of course one never really knows. She was married and had a son, and when his wife died, she raised my mother as her own for a few years before she died, quite young.. I expect she had a hard life, but I didn’t hear that she was depressed. That is her portrait over there.”

The girls decided that this was a possible contender, as not as depressing as the first one, but they still hoped for something better.
Then it was time for Muriel to read again.

Guildford Castle

This Castle rose ‘fore Norman William’s reign,
And for its master owned a Saxon Thane.
Here gallant knights their powers oft esplay’d
To gain a smile from some obdurate maid.

And high born dames the happy visitor’s crowned
While with applauding shouts the hills resound.
Then blazon’d banners decked th’embattled walls,
And midnight revelry illumin’d the halls!

Where are they now? No more the bending lance
Sheers off the gauntlet. Now the warder’s horn
No more awakes the hunters with the morn.
No person beats the air in scutheon’d shale.

No gorgeous pageant crowds the happy gale.
The rampant nettle now o’erspreads the halls.
The mournful ivy mantled on the walls.
Sad are the ruthless ravages of time!
The bulwark‘d turret flowing once sublime
Now totters to its basis, and displays,
A venerable wreck of other days.

“I like that one best of all so far,” said Charlotte. “And it fits in well with the one written for the Queen. Perhaps we should have a theme, about historical places and people.”

The other girls agreed, so this poem was put on the accepted pile.

May read the next one:  
 
Happiness

True happiness is not the growth of earth.
The search is useless if you seek it there.
Tis an exotic of celestial birth.
And only blossoms in celestial air.

Sweet plant of Paradise! Its seed is sown,
For here and there a plant of heavenly mould.
It rises slow and buds but ne’re was known
To blossom here – the climate is too cold.

May all that friendship e’er can wish be thine,
All blessings earthly and all joys divine,
And oh may Heaven this blessing grant to me,
A friend sincere and may that friend be thee.

“I like the sentiment of that one,” said Eveline, “but it doesn’t fit into our theme. Let’s put it on the “perhaps” pile and use it if nothing better comes along.”

Eveline read the next one.

“My God” the beauty oft exclaimed
With deep impassionate tone.
But not a humble prayer, she named
The Highest and Holy One.

‘Twas not upon the bended knee
With soul upraised to heaven
Pleading with heartfelt agony
That she might be forgiven.

‘Twas not in heavenly strains to raise
To the great source of good
Her daily offerings of praise
Her song of gratitude.

But in the gay and thoughtless crowd,
And in the festive hall,
Mid scenes of mirth and mockery.
She named the Lord of all.

She called you that awful name,
When laughter loudest rang.
Oh when the flush of triumph came
On disappointments spring!

The illest thing that fluttering knew,
The most unmeasured jest,
From those sweet lips profanely address
Names of the holiest.

I thought how sweet that voice would be
If speaking this prayer to heaven
My God I worship only thee
O be my sins forgiven.

“I find that quite a wonderful poem – full of meaning which should well be noted,” said Eveline, perhaps the most conservative of the girls.

“Yes, but it doesn’t really fit our historic theme,” said Charlotte. “I don’t really like it all that much anyway. Let’s see what you think of this last one of mine.”

The Forget Me Not

Oh lady take this drooping flower
‘Twill call to mind our parting shot
This simple plant What ’ere my lot
In silence says, Forget me not.

Where on the ocean far away
Or tossed about in Botany Bay
When stormy winds howl round my cot
‘Twill tell thy heart, Forget me not.

Even when ‘tis withered think of me
Ah when ‘tis withered think of me
Tho’ I no more may see the spot
‘Twill whisper there – Forget me not.

And now farewell Where ‘ere I flee
All hopes and joys shall rest on thee.
Ne’re from my heart my memory blot
I’ll ask but this – Forget me not.

“I like that one,” said Muriel, “but it doesn’t fit into our theme. So far we have chosen, Madame Malibian and Guildford Castle, and of course the one about Queen Victoria. Which others should we include?”

“Let’s choose the one on Happiness that we all liked, and also the one where the woman is chastised for using God’s name in vein. I think that gives us quite a wide range.”

“Do you all agree on that?” said Muriel, and they all nodded.

She went on, “Well, we all felt we should eliminate the ones that were rather depressing, which means we only have the one called Forget Me Not, and On the Daintiest as alternatives. I think On the Daintiest is perhaps a bit short, so I am happy to eliminate that, but I really do like Forget Me Not better than the one about the lady who uses bad language.

“Well, as it is your great grandmother’s poetry, I think we should defer to you on that. We will include Forget Me Not and the one on Happiness, along with Madame Malibian, Guildford Castle, and the one about the Queen.  All agreed?”

A chorus of yeses, and then it was time to talk of other things and take tea.