Grief hath been known to turn the young head gray,—
To silver over in a single day
The bright locks of the beautiful, their prime
Scarcely o’erpast; as in the fearful time
Of Gallia’s madness, that discrownèd head
Serene, that on the accursèd altar bled
Miscalled of Liberty. O martyred Queen!
What must the sufferings of that night have...