Two Queens on but one isle --
And o'er the water a distant voice chanting anathema,
Invoking murder as a gentle service to the greater Lord:
Shall our elysium then be known Virginia
Or Mary-Land?
Two queens - two women in whose service men will die -
Two crowns, two royal wills unable to unite
Divide the loyalties of our Faire Albion.
It matters little which side hath its say
When each of them holds forth that one be harlot,
One be Virgin blest.
(The which be which dependeth on allegiance.)
How many souls will answer to each call to kneel?
How many will remember the old ways, and to them cling
In face of all adversity;
How many will the magic of Faire Avalon embrace
And gather in to Gloriana's vision?
Think you it matters aught
Which queen, which crown, which hallow
You may choose? It is the mystic fane of Mastery
You serve in such election, and each one who sits upon a throne
Is but a cipher for a greater Truth.
What greater woe than this be known:
To live and die outside the chain of fealty,
Being masterless and all adrift
In seas of self-importance?
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