 | Poems, and a tragedy |  |
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MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS;
AN ELEGY.
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Quod tibi vitæ sors detraxit,
Fama adjiciet posthuma laudi;
Nostris longum tu dolor et honor.
Fama adjiciet posthuma laudi;
Nostris longum tu dolor et honor.
The balmy Zephyrs o'er the Woodland stray,
And gently stir the bosom of the lake:
The fawns that panting in the covert lay,
Now thro' the gloomy park their revels take.
And gently stir the bosom of the lake:
The fawns that panting in the covert lay,
Now thro' the gloomy park their revels take.
Pale rise the rugged hills that skirt the North,
The wood glows yellow'd by the evening rays,
Silent and beauteous flows the silver Forth,
And Annan murmuring thro' the willows strays.
The wood glows yellow'd by the evening rays,
Silent and beauteous flows the silver Forth,
And Annan murmuring thro' the willows strays.
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But, ah! what means this silence in the grove,
Where oft the wild notes sooth'd the love sick boy?
Why cease in Mary's bower the songs of Love?
The songs of Love, of Innocence, of Joy!
Where oft the wild notes sooth'd the love sick boy?
Why cease in Mary's bower the songs of Love?
The songs of Love, of Innocence, of Joy!
When bright the Lake reflects the setting ray,
The sportive Virgins tread the flowery green;
Here by the Moon full oft in cheerful May,
The merry Bride Maids at the dance are seen.
The sportive Virgins tread the flowery green;
Here by the Moon full oft in cheerful May,
The merry Bride Maids at the dance are seen.
But who these Nymphs that thro' the copse appear
In robes of white adorn'd with violet blue?
Fondly with purple flowers they deck yon bier,
And wave in solemn pomp the boughs of yew.
In robes of white adorn'd with violet blue?
Fondly with purple flowers they deck yon bier,
And wave in solemn pomp the boughs of yew.
Supreme in grief, her eye confus'd with woe,
Appears the Lady of th'aërial train,
Tall as the Sylvan Goddess of the bow,
And fair as she who wept Adonis slain.
Appears the Lady of th'aërial train,
Tall as the Sylvan Goddess of the bow,
And fair as she who wept Adonis slain.
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Such was the pomp when Gilead's virgin band,
Wandering by Judah's flowery mountains wept,
And with fair Iphis by the hallow'd strand
Of Siloe's brook a mournful Sabbath kept.
Wandering by Judah's flowery mountains wept,
And with fair Iphis by the hallow'd strand
Of Siloe's brook a mournful Sabbath kept.
By the resplendent cross with thistles twin'd,
'Tis Mary's guardian Genius lost in woe,
“Ah, say what deepest wrongs have thus combin'd
“To heave with restless sighs thy breast of snow!
'Tis Mary's guardian Genius lost in woe,
“Ah, say what deepest wrongs have thus combin'd
“To heave with restless sighs thy breast of snow!
“Oh stay, ye Dryads, nor unfinish'd fly
“Your solemn rites! Here comes no foot profane!
“The Muse's son, and hallow'd is his eye,
“Implores your stay, implores to join the strain.
“Your solemn rites! Here comes no foot profane!
“The Muse's son, and hallow'd is his eye,
“Implores your stay, implores to join the strain.
“See from her cheek the glowing life blush flies!
“Alas, what faultering sounds of woe be these!
“Ye Nymphs who fondly watch her languid eyes,
“Oh say what music will her soul appease!”
“Alas, what faultering sounds of woe be these!
“Ye Nymphs who fondly watch her languid eyes,
“Oh say what music will her soul appease!”
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“Resound the solemn dirge,” the Nymphs reply,
“And let the Turtles moan in Mary's bower;
“Let Grief indulge her grand sublimity,
“And Melancholy wake her melting power.
“And let the Turtles moan in Mary's bower;
“Let Grief indulge her grand sublimity,
“And Melancholy wake her melting power.
“For Art has triumph'd—Art, that never stood
“On honour's side, or generous transport knew,
“Has dy'd its haggard hands in Mary's blood,
“And o'er her fame has breath'd its blighting dew.
“On honour's side, or generous transport knew,
“Has dy'd its haggard hands in Mary's blood,
“And o'er her fame has breath'd its blighting dew.
“But come ye Nymphs, ye Woodlands Spirits come,
“And with funereal flowers your tresses braid,
“While in this hallowed bower we raise the tomb,
“And consecrate the song to Mary's shade.
“And with funereal flowers your tresses braid,
“While in this hallowed bower we raise the tomb,
“And consecrate the song to Mary's shade.
“O sing what smiles her youthful morning wore,
“Her's every charm, and every loveliest grace,
“When Nature's happiest touch could add no more,
“Heaven lent an Angel's beauty to her face.
“Her's every charm, and every loveliest grace,
“When Nature's happiest touch could add no more,
“Heaven lent an Angel's beauty to her face.
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“O! whether by the moss grown bushy dell,
“Where from the oak depends the misletoe,
“Where creeping ivy shades the Druids' cell,
“Where from the rock the gurgling waters flow:
“Where from the oak depends the misletoe,
“Where creeping ivy shades the Druids' cell,
“Where from the rock the gurgling waters flow:
“Or whether sportive o'er the cowslip beds,
“You thro' the fairy dales of Teviot glide,
“Or brush the primrose banks, while Cynthia sheds
“Her silv'ry light o'er Esk's transcendent tide:
“You thro' the fairy dales of Teviot glide,
“Or brush the primrose banks, while Cynthia sheds
“Her silv'ry light o'er Esk's transcendent tide:
“Hither, ye gentle guardians of the fair,
“By virtue's tears, by weeping beauty, come;
“Unbind the festive robes, unbind the hair,
“And wave the Cyprus bough at Mary's tomb.
“By virtue's tears, by weeping beauty, come;
“Unbind the festive robes, unbind the hair,
“And wave the Cyprus bough at Mary's tomb.
“And come, ye fleet Magicians of the air,
“The mournful Lady of the chorus cried;
“Your airy tints of baleful hue prepare,
And thro' this grove bid Mary's fortunes glide:
“The mournful Lady of the chorus cried;
“Your airy tints of baleful hue prepare,
And thro' this grove bid Mary's fortunes glide:
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“And let the songs, with solemn harpings join'd,
“And wailing notes, unfold the tale of woe!”
She spoke, and waking thro' the breathing wind,
From lyres unseen the solemn harpings flow.
“And wailing notes, unfold the tale of woe!”
She spoke, and waking thro' the breathing wind,
From lyres unseen the solemn harpings flow.
The Song began—“How bright her early morn!
“What lasting joys her smiling fate portends!
“To wield the awful British sceptres born!
“And Gaul's young heir her bridal-bed ascends.
“What lasting joys her smiling fate portends!
“To wield the awful British sceptres born!
“And Gaul's young heir her bridal-bed ascends.
“See, round her bed, light floating on the air,
“The little Loves their purple wings display;
“When sudden, shrieking at the dismal glare
“Of funeral torches, far they speed away.
“The little Loves their purple wings display;
“When sudden, shrieking at the dismal glare
“Of funeral torches, far they speed away.
“Far with the Loves each blissful omen speeds,
“Her eighteenth April hears her widow'd moan,
“The bridal-bed the sable hearse succeeds,
“And struggling factions shake her native throne.
“Her eighteenth April hears her widow'd moan,
“The bridal-bed the sable hearse succeeds,
“And struggling factions shake her native throne.
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“No more a Goddess in the swimming dance,
“May'st thou, O Queen! thy lovely form display;
“No more thy beauty reign the charm of France,
“Nor in Versailles' proud bowers outshine the day.
“May'st thou, O Queen! thy lovely form display;
“No more thy beauty reign the charm of France,
“Nor in Versailles' proud bowers outshine the day.
“For the cold North the trembling sails are spread;
“Ah, what drear horrors gliding thro' thy breast!
“While from thy weeping eyes fair Gallia fled,
“Thy future woes in boding sighs confest!
“Ah, what drear horrors gliding thro' thy breast!
“While from thy weeping eyes fair Gallia fled,
“Thy future woes in boding sighs confest!
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“A nation stern and stubborn to command,
“And now convuls'd with Faction's fiercest rage,
“Commits its sceptre to thy gentle hand,
“And asks a bridle from thy tender age.”
“And now convuls'd with Faction's fiercest rage,
“Commits its sceptre to thy gentle hand,
“And asks a bridle from thy tender age.”
As weeping thus they sung, the omens rose,
Her native shore receives the mournful Queen;
November wind o'er the bare landscape blows,
In hazy gloom the sea-wave skirts the scene.
Her native shore receives the mournful Queen;
November wind o'er the bare landscape blows,
In hazy gloom the sea-wave skirts the scene.
The House of Holy Rood, in sullen state,
Bleak in the shade of rude pil'd rocks appears;
Cold on the mountains side, the type of fate,
Its shattered walls a Romish chapel rears.
Bleak in the shade of rude pil'd rocks appears;
Cold on the mountains side, the type of fate,
Its shattered walls a Romish chapel rears.
No nodding grove here waves the sheltering bough;
O'er the dark vale, prophetic of her reign,
Beneath the carving mountains craggy brow
The dreary echoes to the gales complain:
O'er the dark vale, prophetic of her reign,
Beneath the carving mountains craggy brow
The dreary echoes to the gales complain:
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Beneath the gloomy clouds of rolling smoke,
The high pil'd city rears her Gothic towers;
The stern brow'd Castle, from his lofty rock,
Looks scornful down, and fixt defiance lours .
The high pil'd city rears her Gothic towers;
The stern brow'd Castle, from his lofty rock,
Looks scornful down, and fixt defiance lours .
Domestic bliss, that dear, that sovereign joy,
Far from her heart was seen to speed away;
Strait dark brow'd factions entering in, destroy
The seeds of peace, and mark her for their prey.
Far from her heart was seen to speed away;
Strait dark brow'd factions entering in, destroy
The seeds of peace, and mark her for their prey.
No more by moon-shine to the nuptial bower
Her Francis comes, by Love's soft fetters led;
Far other Spouse now wakes her midnight hour ,
Enrag'd, and reeking from the harlot's bed.
Her Francis comes, by Love's soft fetters led;
Far other Spouse now wakes her midnight hour ,
Enrag'd, and reeking from the harlot's bed.
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“Ah! draw the veil!” shrill trembles thro' the air:
The veil was drawn—but darker scenes arose,
Another nuptial couch the Fates prepare,
The baleful teeming source of deeper woes.
The veil was drawn—but darker scenes arose,
Another nuptial couch the Fates prepare,
The baleful teeming source of deeper woes.
The bridal torch her evil Angel wav'd,
Far from the couch offended Prudence fled;
Of deepest crimes deceitful Faction rav'd,
And rous'd her trembling from the fatal bed.
Far from the couch offended Prudence fled;
Of deepest crimes deceitful Faction rav'd,
And rous'd her trembling from the fatal bed.
The hinds are seen in arms, and glittering spears,
Instead of crooks, the Grampian shepherds wield;
Fanatic rage the ploughman's visage wears,
And red with slaughter lies the harvest field.
Instead of crooks, the Grampian shepherds wield;
Fanatic rage the ploughman's visage wears,
And red with slaughter lies the harvest field.
From Borthwick field, deserted and forlorn,
The beauteous Queen all tears is seen to fly;
Now thro' the streets a weeping captive borne,
Her woe, the triumph of the vulgar eye.
The beauteous Queen all tears is seen to fly;
Now thro' the streets a weeping captive borne,
Her woe, the triumph of the vulgar eye.
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Again the vision shifts the woeful scene;
Again forlorn from rebel arms she flies,
And, unsuspecting, on a Sister Queen,
The lovely, injur'd Fugitive relies.
Again forlorn from rebel arms she flies,
And, unsuspecting, on a Sister Queen,
The lovely, injur'd Fugitive relies.
When Wisdom, baffled, owns th'attempt in vain,
Heaven oft delights to set the virtuous free;
Some friend appears and breaks affliction's chain:
But ah, no generous friend appears for thee!
Heaven oft delights to set the virtuous free;
Some friend appears and breaks affliction's chain:
But ah, no generous friend appears for thee!
A prison's ghastly walls and grated cells
Deform'd the airy scenery as it past;
The haunt where listless Melancholy dwells,
Where every genial feeling sinks aghast.
Deform'd the airy scenery as it past;
The haunt where listless Melancholy dwells,
Where every genial feeling sinks aghast.
No female eye her sickly bed to tend!
“Ah cease to tell it in the female ear!
“A woman's stern command! a proffer'd friend!
“Oh generous passion, peace, forbear, forbear!
“Ah cease to tell it in the female ear!
“A woman's stern command! a proffer'd friend!
“Oh generous passion, peace, forbear, forbear!
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“And could, oh Tudor! could thy heart retain
“No softening thought of what thy woes had been;
“When thou, the heir of England's crown, in vain
“Didst sue the mercy of a tyrant Queen?
“No softening thought of what thy woes had been;
“When thou, the heir of England's crown, in vain
“Didst sue the mercy of a tyrant Queen?
“And could no pang from tender memory wake,
“And feel those woes that once had been thine own;
“No pleading tear to drop for Mary's sake,
“For Mary's sake, the heir of England's throne?
“And feel those woes that once had been thine own;
“No pleading tear to drop for Mary's sake,
“For Mary's sake, the heir of England's throne?
“Alas! no pleading touch thy memory knew,
“Dry'd were the tears which for thyself had flow'd;
“Dark politics alone engag'd thy view;
“With female jealousy thy bosom glow'd.
“Dry'd were the tears which for thyself had flow'd;
“Dark politics alone engag'd thy view;
“With female jealousy thy bosom glow'd.
“And say, did Wisdom own thy stern command?
“Did Honour wave his banner o'er the deed?
“Ah!—Mary's fate thy name shall ever brand,
“And ever o'er her woes shall Pity bleed.
“Did Honour wave his banner o'er the deed?
“Ah!—Mary's fate thy name shall ever brand,
“And ever o'er her woes shall Pity bleed.
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“The babe that prattled on his nurse's knee,
“When first thy woeful captive hours began,
“Ere Heaven, oh happless Mary, set thee free,
“That babe to battle march'd in arms—a man.”
“When first thy woeful captive hours began,
“Ere Heaven, oh happless Mary, set thee free,
“That babe to battle march'd in arms—a man.”
An awful pause ensues—With speaking eyes,
And hands half-rais'd, the guardian wood-nymphs wait;
While slow and sad the airy scenes arise,
Stain'd with the last deep woes of Mary's fate.
And hands half-rais'd, the guardian wood-nymphs wait;
While slow and sad the airy scenes arise,
Stain'd with the last deep woes of Mary's fate.
With dreary black hung round the hall appears,
The thirsty saw-dust strews the marble floor,
Blue gleams the ax, the block its shoulders rears,
And pikes and halberds guard the iron door.
The thirsty saw-dust strews the marble floor,
Blue gleams the ax, the block its shoulders rears,
And pikes and halberds guard the iron door.
The clouded moon her dreary glimpses shed,
And Mary's maids, a mournful train, pass by;
Languid they walk, and pensive hang the head,
And silent tears pace down from every eye.
And Mary's maids, a mournful train, pass by;
Languid they walk, and pensive hang the head,
And silent tears pace down from every eye.
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Serene and nobly mild appears the Queen;
She smiles on Heaven, and bows the injur'd head:
The ax is lifted—From the deathful scene
The guardians turn'd, and all the picture fled—
She smiles on Heaven, and bows the injur'd head:
The ax is lifted—From the deathful scene
The guardians turn'd, and all the picture fled—
It fled: the wood-nymphs o'er the distant lawn,
As 'rapt in vision, dart their earnest eyes;
So when the huntsman hears the rattling fawn,
He stands impatient of the starting prize.
As 'rapt in vision, dart their earnest eyes;
So when the huntsman hears the rattling fawn,
He stands impatient of the starting prize.
The Sovereign dame her awful eye-balls roll'd,
As Cuma's maid when by the god inspir'd;
“The depth of ages to my sight unfold,”
She cries, And Mary's meed my breast has fir'd.
As Cuma's maid when by the god inspir'd;
“The depth of ages to my sight unfold,”
She cries, And Mary's meed my breast has fir'd.
“On Tudor's throne her sons shall ever reign,
“Age after age shall see their flag unfurl'd,
“With sovereign pride wherever roars the main,
“Stream to the wind, and awe the trembling world.
“Age after age shall see their flag unfurl'd,
“With sovereign pride wherever roars the main,
“Stream to the wind, and awe the trembling world.
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“Nor Britain's sceptre shall they wield alone,
“Age after age thro' length'ning time shall see
“Her branching race on Europe's every throne,
“And either India bend to them the knee.
“Age after age thro' length'ning time shall see
“Her branching race on Europe's every throne,
“And either India bend to them the knee.
“But Tudor, as a fruitless gourd, shall die;
“I see her death scene on the lowly floor:
“Dreary she sits, cold Grief has glas'd her eye,
“And Anguish gnaws her 'till she breathes no more.”
“I see her death scene on the lowly floor:
“Dreary she sits, cold Grief has glas'd her eye,
“And Anguish gnaws her 'till she breathes no more.”
But hark!—loud howling thro' the midnight gloom,
Faction is rous'd, and sends the baleful yell!
Oh save ye, generous few, your Mary's tomb!
Oh save her ashes from the baleful spell!
Faction is rous'd, and sends the baleful yell!
Oh save ye, generous few, your Mary's tomb!
Oh save her ashes from the baleful spell!
“And, lo! where time with brighten'd face serene
“Points to yon far, but glorious opening sky;
“See Truth walk forth, majestic awful Queen!
And Party's blackening mists before her fly
“Points to yon far, but glorious opening sky;
“See Truth walk forth, majestic awful Queen!
And Party's blackening mists before her fly
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“Falsehood unmask'd withdraws her ugly train,
“And Mary's virtues all illustrious shine—
“Yes, thou hast friends, the godlike and humane
“Of latest ages, injur'd Queen, are thine.”
“And Mary's virtues all illustrious shine—
“Yes, thou hast friends, the godlike and humane
“Of latest ages, injur'd Queen, are thine.”
The milky splendors of the dawning ray,
Now thro' the grove a trembling radiance shed;
With sprightly note the wood lark hail'd the day,
And with the moonshine all the vision fled.
Now thro' the grove a trembling radiance shed;
With sprightly note the wood lark hail'd the day,
And with the moonshine all the vision fled.
The Author of this little Poem to the memory of an unhappy Princess, is unwilling to enter into the controversy respecting her guilt or her innocence. Suffice it only to observe, that the following facts may be proved to demonstration:—The Letters which have always been esteemed the principal proofs of Queen Mary's guilt are forged. Buchanan, on whose authority Francis, and other historians, have condemned her, has falsified several circumstances of her history, and has cited against her public records which never existed, as has been lately proved to demonstration. And to add no more, the treatment she received from her illustrious Cousin was dictated by a policy truly Machiavelian.—a policy which trampled on the obligations of honour, of humanity and morality. From whence it may be inferred, that, to express the indignation at the cruel treatment of Mary, which history must ever inspire, and to drop a tear over her sufferings, is not unworthy of a writer who would appear in the cause of Virtue.
The unhappy Mary, in her infancy, was sent to France to the care of her Mother's family, the House of Guise. The French Court was at that time the gayest and most gallant of Europe. Here the Princess of Scotland was educated with all the distinction due to her high rank; and as soon as years would allow, she was married to the Dauphin, afterwards Francis: and on the death of this Monarch, which closed a short reign, the politics of the House of Guise required the return of the young Queen to Scotland. She left France with tears and the utmost reluctance; and on her landing in her native kingdom, the different appearance of the country awakened all her regret, and affected her with a melancholy which seemed to forebode her future misfortunes.
These circumstances, descriptive of the environs of Holy Rood-house, are local; yet, however dreary the unimproved November view may appear, the connoisseur in gardening will perceive that plantation, and the efforts of art, could easily convert the prospect into an agreeable and most romantic Summer landscape.
| Poems, and a tragedy | |