Honey and locusts were his food,
        And he was most severely good. 
        He preached penitence and tears,
        And waking first the sinner’s fears,
        Prepared a path, made smooth a way,
        For his diviner master’s day.

          Herod kept in princely state
        His birth-day.  On his throne he sate,
        After the feast, beholding her
        Who danced with grace peculiar;
        Fair Salome, who did excel
        All in that land for dancing well. 
        The feastful monarch’s heart was fired,
        And whatsoe’er thing she desired. 
        Though half his kingdom it should be,
        He in his pleasure swore that he
        Would give the graceful Salome. 
        The damsel was Herodias’ daughter: 
        She to the queen hastes, and besought her
        To teach her what great gift to name. 
        Instructed by Herodias, came
        The damsel back; to Herod said,
        “Give me John the Baptist’s head;
        And in a charger let it be
        Hither straitway brought to me.” 
        Herod her suit would fain deny,
        But for his oath’s sake must comply.

          When painters would by art express
        Beauty in unloveliness,
        Thee, Herodias’ daughter, thee,
        They fittest subject take to be. 
        They give thy form and features grace;
        But ever in thy beauteous face
        They shew a steadfast cruel gaze,
        An eye unpitying; and amaze
        In all beholders deep they mark,
        That thou betrayest not one spark
        Of feeling for the ruthless deed,
        That did thy praiseful dance succeed
        For on the head they make you look,
        As if a sullen joy you took,
        A cruel triumph, wicked pride,
        That for your sport a saint had died.

LINES

Suggested by a Picture of Two Females by Lionardo da Vinci.

(By Mary Lamb. 1804)

The Lady Blanch, regardless of all her lovers’ fears,
To the Urs’line convent hastens, and long the Abbess hears. 
“O Blanch, my child, repent ye of the courtly life ye lead.” 
Blanch looked on a rose-bud and little seem’d to heed. 
She looked on the rose-bud, she looked round, and thought
On all her heart had whisper’d, and all the Nun had taught. 
“I am worshipped by lovers, and brightly shines my fame,
All Christendom resoundeth the noble Blanch’s name. 
Nor shall I quickly wither like the rose-bud from the tree,
My queen-like graces shining when my beauty’s gone from me. 
But when the sculptur’d marble is raised o’er my head,
And the matchless Blanch lies lifeless among the noble dead,
This saintly lady Abbess hath made me justly fear,
It nothing will avail me that I were worshipp’d here.”