Classic Poem

None of my kindred now can tell
The features once beloved so well:
Those dark brown locks that used to deck
A snowy brow in ringlets small,
Now wildly shade my sunburnt neck,
And streaming down my shoulders fall.

The pure bright red of noble birth
Has deepened to a gipsy glow;
And care has quenched the smile of mirth,
And tuned my heart to welcome woe.

Yet you must know in infancy
Full many an eye watched over me;
Sweet voices to my slumber sung;
My downy couch with silk was hung;

And music soothed me when I cried;
And when I laughed they all replied;
And “rosy Blanche”—how oft was heard
In hall and bower that well-known word.

Through gathering summers still caressed;
In kingly courts a favourite guest,
A monarch's hand would pour for me
The richest gifts of royalty.

But clouds will come; too soon they came;
For not through age and not through crime,
Is Blanche a now forgotten name;
True heart, and brow unmarked by time:
These treasured blessings still are mine.