Effusions of Love from Chatelar to Mary, Queen of Scotland Translated from a Gallic Manuscript, in the Scotch College at Paris. Interspersed with songs, sonnets, and notes explanatory, by the translator [i.e. S. W. H. Ireland]. To which is added, historical fragments, poetry, and remains of the amours, of that unfortunate Princess |
 | CHATELAR. |
 |
 | Effusions of Love from Chatelar to Mary, Queen of Scotland |  |
6
CHATELAR.
THE SAILOR'S DITTY.
Tell ye winds, that bleakly blow,
All the damsel's tale of woe;
Tell, thou deadly yawning main,
All the love sick sailor's pain;
Let each plaintive accent prove
Marg'ret's truth and Henry's love.
Myrtles blighted,
Loves benighted,
For the willow
Shades their pillow,
Sadly moans the turtle-dove.
All the damsel's tale of woe;
Tell, thou deadly yawning main,
All the love sick sailor's pain;
Let each plaintive accent prove
Marg'ret's truth and Henry's love.
Myrtles blighted,
Loves benighted,
For the willow
Shades their pillow,
Sadly moans the turtle-dove.
Hush, I hear the hollow wind
Breathe the truth of Marg'ret's mind;
Hark, the dashing waves impart
Henry's fervent, faithful heart:
Winds and waves in union prove
Matchless truth and ardent love.
Myrtles blighted,
Loves benighted,
For the willow
Shades their pillow,
Sadly moans the turtle-dove.
Breathe the truth of Marg'ret's mind;
Hark, the dashing waves impart
Henry's fervent, faithful heart:
Winds and waves in union prove
Matchless truth and ardent love.
Myrtles blighted,
Loves benighted,
For the willow
Shades their pillow,
Sadly moans the turtle-dove.
Sailor-youth the main you cross'd,
Oft by raging billows toss'd;
Gentle maid unseen you sigh'd,
Languish'd, pin'd, and love-sick died;
While thy Henry's struggling breath
Bless'd thee in a wat'ry death.
Myrtles blighted,
Loves benighted,
For the willow
Shades their pillow,
Sadly moans the turtle-dove.
Oft by raging billows toss'd;
Gentle maid unseen you sigh'd,
Languish'd, pin'd, and love-sick died;
7
Bless'd thee in a wat'ry death.
Myrtles blighted,
Loves benighted,
For the willow
Shades their pillow,
Sadly moans the turtle-dove.
23
BALLAD
TO MY QUEEN.
Ah! say not winter's winds blow bleak,
Nor tax the snow and drifting rain;
They'll blight the roses of the cheek,
But never give the bosom pain.
Nor tax the snow and drifting rain;
They'll blight the roses of the cheek,
But never give the bosom pain.
Ah! blame not age's icy dart,
For nought so marble-cold can be
As Mary's unrelenting heart,
For she can pity all but me.
For nought so marble-cold can be
As Mary's unrelenting heart,
For she can pity all but me.
Ah! curse not Fortune's wav'ring mind,
For nought so fickle e'er can prove
As she who blights with frown unkind
The child of truth and matchless love.
For nought so fickle e'er can prove
As she who blights with frown unkind
The child of truth and matchless love.
Oh Arran! thou hast pow'r and state
To cancel ev'ry hope of mine—
Oh Gordon! thou art bless'd by fate
With manly form and port divine.
To cancel ev'ry hope of mine—
Oh Gordon! thou art bless'd by fate
With manly form and port divine.
Yet, though eclips'd by state and pow'r,
Nor these or beauty can controul
Those flames which ev'ry sense devour,
That passion which enslaves my soul.
Nor these or beauty can controul
Those flames which ev'ry sense devour,
That passion which enslaves my soul.
35
TO THE DEMON, JEALOUSY.
To such as feel the body's pain,
And cry with anguish, I would say—
With joy your agonies sustain;
For I am suff'ring more than they.
And cry with anguish, I would say—
With joy your agonies sustain;
For I am suff'ring more than they.
To such as feel the weight of care,
And curse the world with bitter tear,
I fain would say—your sorrows bear;
For agony is only here.
And curse the world with bitter tear,
I fain would say—your sorrows bear;
For agony is only here.
If any rail at fortune cross'd,
I'd say, your wealth you may regain;
But all my peace and joy are lost—
My days are woe, my nights are pain.
I'd say, your wealth you may regain;
But all my peace and joy are lost—
My days are woe, my nights are pain.
If death of parent, or of wife,
If loss of infant, or of friend,
Assail the mind; yet still the strife
May wear away—mine hath no end.
If loss of infant, or of friend,
Assail the mind; yet still the strife
May wear away—mine hath no end.
Nor malice, or revenge can live,
Like those fell pangs which I endure
For time may teach them to forgive,
But time my woes can never cure.
Like those fell pangs which I endure
For time may teach them to forgive,
But time my woes can never cure.
36
To say what can surpass all these
And prove that torture lives in me,
It is that sting which knows no ease—
The pang of hell-fraught Jealousy.
And prove that torture lives in me,
It is that sting which knows no ease—
The pang of hell-fraught Jealousy.
42
AIR.
TRANSLATION.
A queen is mistress of my soul;
I idolize
Her brilliant eyes,
Love's sceptres which all hearts controul;
And when tow'rd me their ardent fires they turn,
Love's flames within my breast more furious burn.
I idolize
Her brilliant eyes,
Love's sceptres which all hearts controul;
And when tow'rd me their ardent fires they turn,
Love's flames within my breast more furious burn.
Were I but sov'reign of the sky,
Her love might be
Conferr'd on me,
And I unheeded should not sigh;
But as I am, in silence I must feel
Love's sacred flame, and yet that flame conceal.
Her love might be
Conferr'd on me,
And I unheeded should not sigh;
But as I am, in silence I must feel
Love's sacred flame, and yet that flame conceal.
47
BALLAD.
[Ah! cruel love, why rove unseen?]
Ah! cruel love, why rove unseen?
In myrtle fetters bind the queen,
Who shuns a humble youth;
On wanton pinions send thy dart,
Fresh purpled from my bleeding heart,
And wing'd with matchless truth.
In myrtle fetters bind the queen,
Who shuns a humble youth;
On wanton pinions send thy dart,
Fresh purpled from my bleeding heart,
And wing'd with matchless truth.
So should I reign o'er ev'ry charm,
Nor feel dread Jealousy's alarm,
But taste of joys above.
I ask not wealth, or to be great,
With her I'd scorn the frowns of Fate,
And only live for love.
Nor feel dread Jealousy's alarm,
But taste of joys above.
I ask not wealth, or to be great,
With her I'd scorn the frowns of Fate,
And only live for love.
60
THE PICTURE OF MY QUEEN.
Ah! wou'dst thou see the azure sky,
And feast upon the blooming rose,
Etherial blue is Mary's eye,
The damask tinge her cheeks disclose.
And feast upon the blooming rose,
Etherial blue is Mary's eye,
The damask tinge her cheeks disclose.
Wou'dst thou behold the lily dress'd
And view each graceful wave display'd,
Gaze on her gently heaving breast,
And see her locks in gold array'd.
And view each graceful wave display'd,
Gaze on her gently heaving breast,
And see her locks in gold array'd.
Or wou'dst thou hear the bird of night,
Whose notes melodious fill the grove,
'Tis Mary's song that yields delight,
So peerless is the queen of love.
Whose notes melodious fill the grove,
'Tis Mary's song that yields delight,
So peerless is the queen of love.
75
SONNET.
Ah! say my soul, is nature law,
Or is the mind but passion's tool?
Yes: all affection's but a flaw,
For heav'nly love is custom's rule:
Or is the mind but passion's tool?
Yes: all affection's but a flaw,
For heav'nly love is custom's rule:
So saith cold reason: but my raging heart
Cries nay, and fain would act a nobler part.
Cries nay, and fain would act a nobler part.
I wou'd be her's, whom custom's rule
Hath plac'd on eminence so high,
That soaring I should seem the fool,
And yet not soaring I must die.
Hath plac'd on eminence so high,
That soaring I should seem the fool,
And yet not soaring I must die.
Doth custom then, or nature play unfair,
To plant the will when not the pow'r is there?
To plant the will when not the pow'r is there?
Passion and reason always disagree;
So I am left with love and misery.
So I am left with love and misery.
80
TO LOVE.
Love holds dominion o'er my breast,
And all my senses both enslave;
He is the foe of tranquil rest,
Nor quits us till we're in the grave,
He is a foe,
He is a fire;
The source of woe,
Or soft desire.
Ah! wou'd my goddess smile, I then might show,
That bliss was love, not love of bliss the foe.
And all my senses both enslave;
He is the foe of tranquil rest,
Nor quits us till we're in the grave,
He is a foe,
He is a fire;
The source of woe,
Or soft desire.
Ah! wou'd my goddess smile, I then might show,
That bliss was love, not love of bliss the foe.
81
But since in love no joys I find,
My direst foe in him I serve;
And though a tyrant, still my mind
The rankling arrow must preserve.
I am the slave,
My gaoler he—
Nought but the grave
Gives liberty.
Come love's physician, come all-conqu'ring death,
Strike here, and let me yield with love my breath.
My direst foe in him I serve;
And though a tyrant, still my mind
The rankling arrow must preserve.
I am the slave,
My gaoler he—
Nought but the grave
Gives liberty.
Come love's physician, come all-conqu'ring death,
Strike here, and let me yield with love my breath.
88
TO THE DART OF DEATH.
How oft hath Mars his blood-stain'd weapon rear'd
While calmly smiling I have said—
O! strike, and number with the dead,
This breaking heart, by love's hot arrow sear'd.
While calmly smiling I have said—
O! strike, and number with the dead,
This breaking heart, by love's hot arrow sear'd.
In vain I proffer'd thus my bleeding soul;
My bosom's flame too ardent burn'd,
From ice to fire the steel was turn'd,
And hungry death had lost his dire control.
My bosom's flame too ardent burn'd,
From ice to fire the steel was turn'd,
And hungry death had lost his dire control.
If thus the shaft neglectful turns away,
How can my fetter'd soul expire?
Save in the blaze of that bright fire,
Which beams, O goddess! from thy heav'nly eye.
How can my fetter'd soul expire?
Save in the blaze of that bright fire,
Which beams, O goddess! from thy heav'nly eye.
Since then thy dart, grim death, I soar above,
My eyes her eyes shall meet, then die with love.
My eyes her eyes shall meet, then die with love.
101
TO THE FADING ROSE OF LOVE.
Poor love-lorn maid, thy bleeding heart
Doth all my withering pangs impart,
As hopeless as thyself I pine;
I weep the queen of bliss, whilst thou
Send'st forth to love the fervent vow
For him who never can be thine.
Doth all my withering pangs impart,
As hopeless as thyself I pine;
I weep the queen of bliss, whilst thou
Send'st forth to love the fervent vow
For him who never can be thine.
Thy tears with tears will I requite,
With thee I'll sigh the tedious night,
And praise my love with falt'ring breath;
With thee I'll hope, with thee despair,
With thee the wrath of heav'n I'll dare,
By cursing life and courting death.
With thee I'll sigh the tedious night,
And praise my love with falt'ring breath;
With thee I'll hope, with thee despair,
With thee the wrath of heav'n I'll dare,
By cursing life and courting death.
And yet, though hopeless be thy love,
One pang like mine thou can'st not prove—
I'm more accursed far than thee;
For him thou lov'st will weep thy doom,
But love's bright empress on the tomb
Will never shed one tear for me.
One pang like mine thou can'st not prove—
I'm more accursed far than thee;
For him thou lov'st will weep thy doom,
But love's bright empress on the tomb
Will never shed one tear for me.
102
The gem of pity is thy lot,
Whilst I must wither quite forgot
By her who reigns my bosom's queen;
Blighted by hope, and left forlorn,
My heart is doom'd to wear the thorn,
And mourn love's rose—poor Angeline!
Whilst I must wither quite forgot
By her who reigns my bosom's queen;
Blighted by hope, and left forlorn,
My heart is doom'd to wear the thorn,
And mourn love's rose—poor Angeline!
105
[Mark these poor lines, an angel's here displayed]
Mark these poor lines, an angel's here displayed,As lustrous as the star of cloudless eve;
Rich in each beauty, and by virtue 'rayed
In truth: and still form'd only to deceive,
Enticing my true heart to make it grieve.
108
[L-ove, though divided, marks my ev'ry line]
L-ove, though divided, marks my ev'ry line,O-n that I live, more constant than the dove;
V-ows unto him I pay, whose pow'r divine
E-nds as it first began—nought else but love.
112
[C-an heav'n's dread frown thy woes excel?]
C-an heav'n's dread frown thy woes excel?H-as fate reserved a pang more keen?
A-nd is there language that can tell,
T-he wretch more curs'd than here is seen.
E-ach line, in part, makes out despair—
L-ove quite forlorn—dread misery—
A-nd ev'ry attribute of care—
R-age, torments, hell, and jealousy.
118
BALLAD.
[My pulse is languid, all my senses die]
My pulse is languid, all my senses die;
My heart o'erflows, I weep, yet know not why—
Ah! sure my heart's the chronicle of love:
My eyes transfix'd forget their wonted rest;
My mind by contrite pray'r seeks to be blest—
But all in vain I turn my gaze above.
My heart o'erflows, I weep, yet know not why—
Ah! sure my heart's the chronicle of love:
119
My mind by contrite pray'r seeks to be blest—
But all in vain I turn my gaze above.
Now rapid beats my pulse, my senses fire;
My heart's in flames, and tears yield to desire:
'Tis love who traces with his raging dart
The form, the majesty, and every grace,
That shines, Oh queen! from thy celestial face,
Upon the tablet of my bleeding heart.
My heart's in flames, and tears yield to desire:
'Tis love who traces with his raging dart
The form, the majesty, and every grace,
That shines, Oh queen! from thy celestial face,
Upon the tablet of my bleeding heart.
Now fury rages, and my throbbing brain
Would court fell madness to alleviate pain—
Come, Mary, let the drop of feeling flow:
Again 'tis o'er, the raging fever dies,
And nought remains but sadness, tears, and sighs—
I'm left the solitary child of woe.
Would court fell madness to alleviate pain—
Come, Mary, let the drop of feeling flow:
Again 'tis o'er, the raging fever dies,
And nought remains but sadness, tears, and sighs—
I'm left the solitary child of woe.
139
[I crave no mercy for my forfeit life]
I crave no mercy for my forfeit life,
I claim no sigh, I ask no pitying tear;
Existence would be love, and love is strife,
So joy shall be th' attendant on my bier.
I claim no sigh, I ask no pitying tear;
Existence would be love, and love is strife,
So joy shall be th' attendant on my bier.
My fancy pictur'd love as bliss supreme,
And youthful passion soon enslav'd my heart:
I found warm fancy but a fleeting dream,
And fervent passion but a rankling dart.
And youthful passion soon enslav'd my heart:
I found warm fancy but a fleeting dream,
And fervent passion but a rankling dart.
I courted hope, she conjur'd visions bright,
My mind equality in nature drew;
Hope proved the antic to my dazzled sight,
Which argument still forc'd me to pursue.
My mind equality in nature drew;
Hope proved the antic to my dazzled sight,
Which argument still forc'd me to pursue.
140
To feast on Mary's charms was once my care,
Methought I never could have sued for more;
But bless'd with those, presumption made me dare,
And I confess'd the flame which I deplore.
Methought I never could have sued for more;
But bless'd with those, presumption made me dare,
And I confess'd the flame which I deplore.
I flew the sweet destroyer of my rest,
I courted death in many a bloody fray;
When love, by torturing another's breast,
Still urg'd me back that I might own its sway.
I courted death in many a bloody fray;
When love, by torturing another's breast,
Still urg'd me back that I might own its sway.
Again I bask in beauty's radiant sun,
I dare attempt to realize my bliss;
I gaze unseen, I gaze, and am undone,
And sell existence for love's ardent kiss.
I dare attempt to realize my bliss;
I gaze unseen, I gaze, and am undone,
And sell existence for love's ardent kiss.
Aurora soon will tinge with ruddy hue
The eastern expanse, now in darkness dress'd,
And I with her shall bid life's night adieu,
To wake immortal, and for ever bless'd.
The eastern expanse, now in darkness dress'd,
And I with her shall bid life's night adieu,
To wake immortal, and for ever bless'd.
But, ah! may not the form of Mary live
In soul aerial, as in mortal fame?
Will icy death annihilation give,
Or doth love's fury still exist the same?
In soul aerial, as in mortal fame?
Will icy death annihilation give,
Or doth love's fury still exist the same?
To part for ever from the bliss I crave,
Uncertain of the future, gives me dread;
Perhaps, expecting comfort in the grave,
To love the living Mary with the dead.
Uncertain of the future, gives me dread;
Perhaps, expecting comfort in the grave,
To love the living Mary with the dead.
Why puzzle still with doubts my throbbing brain?
Why with perplexity increase the shock?
Had I the will to live, the strife were vain—
To-morrow seals my doom upon the block.
Why with perplexity increase the shock?
Had I the will to live, the strife were vain—
To-morrow seals my doom upon the block.
141
Let love and resignation nerve my soul,
Since neither bolt, or cell, or axe have sway,
My bosom's warm affections to control—
My heart is Mary's—Mary I obey.
Since neither bolt, or cell, or axe have sway,
My bosom's warm affections to control—
My heart is Mary's—Mary I obey.
Come smiling morn, for thou wilt comfort lend,
And poise within me ev'ry jarring sense;
Death is to Chatelar the wish'd-for friend,
For death brings certainty, and kills suspense.
And poise within me ev'ry jarring sense;
Death is to Chatelar the wish'd-for friend,
For death brings certainty, and kills suspense.
157
HISTORICAL FRAGMENTS, POETRY, AND REMAINS OF THE AMOURS, OF Mary, Queen of Scots .
160
A NEW YEIR GIFT
To Queen Mary, when she came first hame, 1562.
Welcum, illustrat Lady, and our queen,
Welcum our lyone with the floure de lyce,
Welcum our thistle with the Lorrane green.
Welcum our rubent rose upon the ryce
Welcum our gem and joyfull genetryce
;
Welcum our beil of Albion to beir ;
Welcum our pleasand princess maist of pryce ,
God give your grace agains this gude new zeir .
Welcum our lyone with the floure de lyce,
Welcum our thistle with the Lorrane green.
Welcum our rubent rose upon the ryce
161
Welcum our beil of Albion to beir ;
Welcum our pleasand princess maist of pryce ,
God give your grace agains this gude new zeir .
This gude new zier we hope with grace of God,
Shall be of peace, tranquillity, and rest;
This year shall richt and reason rule the rod,
Quhilk sae lang season has bene sair suprest;
This zeir firm faith shall freily be confest,
And all erroneous questions put arreir
To labour that this lyfe amang us left.
God give your grace agains this gude new zeir.
Shall be of peace, tranquillity, and rest;
This year shall richt and reason rule the rod,
Quhilk sae lang season has bene sair suprest;
This zeir firm faith shall freily be confest,
And all erroneous questions put arreir
To labour that this lyfe amang us left.
God give your grace agains this gude new zeir.
This is an heraldic allusion. The lion is part of the arms of Scotland, and Mary was entitled to bear the fleur de lys in her quality of Dowager of France.
[Let all thy realme be now in readiness]
Let all thy realme be now in readiness,
With costly cleathing to decore thy corss ,
Zung gentlemen for dauncing they address,
With courtlie ladies coupled in consors ,
Frak
fierce gallands the field games to enfors
Enarmed knyghts at lists with shield and speir,
To feicht in barrow baith on fute and hors,
And grant thy grace get a gude-man this zeir.
With costly cleathing to decore thy corss ,
Zung gentlemen for dauncing they address,
With courtlie ladies coupled in consors ,
162
Enarmed knyghts at lists with shield and speir,
To feicht in barrow baith on fute and hors,
And grant thy grace get a gude-man this zeir.
This zeir shall be embassies heir
belyve
,
For marriage, from great princes, dukes, and kings,
This zeir within this region shall arise
Rowts of the rankest that in Europe rings;
This zeir both blythness and abundance brings,
Navies of schips outhrow the sea to sneir
With riches, rayments, and all royal things,
Agane thy grace gets a gude-man this zier.
For marriage, from great princes, dukes, and kings,
This zeir within this region shall arise
Rowts of the rankest that in Europe rings;
This zeir both blythness and abundance brings,
Navies of schips outhrow the sea to sneir
With riches, rayments, and all royal things,
Agane thy grace gets a gude-man this zier.
Gif
saws
be suthe
to schaw
thy celsitude
,
Quhat Bairn sould bruke all Britain by the sie ,
The prophecy expressly does conclude,
The French wyfe of the Bruceis blude should be,
Thou art the lyne frae him the nynth degree,
And was King Francis partie maik and peir
Sae by descent the same should spring of thee,
By grace of God agane this gude new zeir.
Quhat Bairn sould bruke all Britain by the sie ,
163
The French wyfe of the Bruceis blude should be,
Thou art the lyne frae him the nynth degree,
And was King Francis partie maik and peir
Sae by descent the same should spring of thee,
By grace of God agane this gude new zeir.
shall govern the whole island of Britain, as it is encompassed by the sea. By this verse it appears, that the prophecy of James VI. of Scotland succeeding to the crown of England, and being the first king of Great Britain, was not, as some alledge, made after his accession; this poem being composed in 1562, some years before his birth.
Mary is here called the French wife, from the circumstance of her being Queen Dowager of France. Her descent from the Bruces, the next line.
172
[Woe worth, woe worth thee, false Scotlande!]
Woe worth, woe worth thee, false Scotlande!
For thou hast ever wrought by sleight;
The worthiest prince that ever was borne,
You hanged under a cloud by night.
For thou hast ever wrought by sleight;
The worthiest prince that ever was borne,
You hanged under a cloud by night.
The Queen of France a letter wrote,
And sealed itt with harte and ringe;
And bade him come Scotlande within,
And she wold marry and crowne him kinge.
And sealed itt with harte and ringe;
And bade him come Scotlande within,
And she wold marry and crowne him kinge.
173
To be a king is a pleasant thing,
To be a prince unto a peer:
But you have heard, and so have I too,
A man may well buy gold too dear.
To be a prince unto a peer:
But you have heard, and so have I too,
A man may well buy gold too dear.
There was an Italyan in that place,
Was as well beloved as ever was hee,
Lord David was his name,
Chamberlaine to the queene was hee.
Was as well beloved as ever was hee,
Lord David was his name,
Chamberlaine to the queene was hee.
If the king had risen forth of his place,
He would have sate him down in the cheare,
And tho' itt beseemed him not so well,
Altho' the king had been present there.
He would have sate him down in the cheare,
And tho' itt beseemed him not so well,
Altho' the king had been present there.
Some lords in Scotlande waxed wroth,
And quarrelled with him for the nonce;
I shall tell you how it befell,
Twelve daggers were in him att once.
And quarrelled with him for the nonce;
I shall tell you how it befell,
Twelve daggers were in him att once.
When the queene saw her chamberlaine was slaine,
For him her faire cheeks she did weete,
And made a vow for a year and a day
The king and she wold not come in one sheete.
For him her faire cheeks she did weete,
And made a vow for a year and a day
The king and she wold not come in one sheete.
Then some of the lords they waxed wrothe,
And made their vow all vehementlye;
For the death of the queene's chamberlaine,
The king himself how he shall dye.
And made their vow all vehementlye;
For the death of the queene's chamberlaine,
The king himself how he shall dye.
With gunpowder they strewed his roome,
And lay'd green rushes in his way;
For the traitors thought that very night
This worthye king for to betray.
And lay'd green rushes in his way;
For the traitors thought that very night
This worthye king for to betray.
174
To bed the king he made him bowne;
To take his rest was his desire;
He was no sooner cast on sleepe,
But his chamber was on a blazing fire.
To take his rest was his desire;
He was no sooner cast on sleepe,
But his chamber was on a blazing fire.
Up he lope, and the window brake,
And he had thirty foote to fall;
Lord Bodwell kept a privy watch,
Underneath his castle wall.
And he had thirty foote to fall;
Lord Bodwell kept a privy watch,
Underneath his castle wall.
Who have wee here? Lord Bodwell say'd;
Now answer me, that I may know:
“King Henry the Eighth my uncle was;
For his sweete sake some pitty shew.”
Now answer me, that I may know:
“King Henry the Eighth my uncle was;
For his sweete sake some pitty shew.”
Who have we here? Lord Bodwell say'd,
Now answer me when I do speake;
“Ah, Lord Bodwell, I know thee well;
Some pitty on me I pray thee take.
Now answer me when I do speake;
“Ah, Lord Bodwell, I know thee well;
Some pitty on me I pray thee take.
I'll pitty thee as much, he say'd,
And as much favour show to thee,
As thou didst to the queene's chamberlaine,
That day thou deemedst him to die.
And as much favour show to thee,
As thou didst to the queene's chamberlaine,
That day thou deemedst him to die.
Through halls and towers the king they ledd,
Through towers and castles that were nigh,
Through an arbour into an orchard,
There on a pear-tree hanged him high.
Through towers and castles that were nigh,
Through an arbour into an orchard,
There on a pear-tree hanged him high.
When the governor of Scotland heard
How the worthye king was slaine;
He pursued the queene so bitterlye,
That in Scotlande she dare not remaine.
How the worthye king was slaine;
He pursued the queene so bitterlye,
That in Scotlande she dare not remaine.
175
But she is fled into merry England,
And here her residence hath taine;
And through the Queene of England's grace.
In England she now doth remaine.
And here her residence hath taine;
And through the Queene of England's grace.
In England she now doth remaine.
It deserves to be mentioned here, that the governor of Scotland, who is noticed in the last stanza but one, was the Earl of Murray, half-brother to Mary, who, according to the best historians, was nearly concerned in the murder. It is true, he afterwards pursued that unfortunate princess out of her realm, but not to revenge the death of Darnley, but to clear the way for his own ambitious views, and secure to himself the regency of the kingdom of Scotland during the minority of James VI.
181
[If these sad thoughts could be express'd]
[_]
The following beautiful lines are usually called “Lord Airth's complaint,” but who that nobleman was, antiquaries are not well agreed. The lines themselves bear strong internal evidence of having been addressed to the Queen of Scots. They are written in the dialect of that period, and the only liberty taken with them has been to modernise the orthography.
If these sad thoughts could be express'd,
Wherewith my mind is now possess'd,
My passion might, disclos'd, have rest,
My griefs reveal'd might fly:
But still that mind which doth forbear
To yield a groan, a sigh, a tear,
May by its prudence, much I fear,
Increase its misery.
Wherewith my mind is now possess'd,
My passion might, disclos'd, have rest,
My griefs reveal'd might fly:
But still that mind which doth forbear
To yield a groan, a sigh, a tear,
May by its prudence, much I fear,
Increase its misery.
My heart which ceases now to plain,
To speak its griefs in mournful strain,
And by sad accents ease my pain,
Is stupified with woe.
For lesser cares do mourn and cry,
While greater cares are mute and die
As issues run a fountain dry,
Which stop'd would overflow.
To speak its griefs in mournful strain,
And by sad accents ease my pain,
Is stupified with woe.
For lesser cares do mourn and cry,
While greater cares are mute and die
As issues run a fountain dry,
Which stop'd would overflow.
182
My sighs are fled: no tears now rin,
But swell to whelm my soul within,
How pitiful the case I'm in,
Admire but do not try.
My crosses I might justly prove,
Are common sorrows far above;
My griers ay in a circle move,
And will do till I die.
But swell to whelm my soul within,
How pitiful the case I'm in,
Admire but do not try.
My crosses I might justly prove,
Are common sorrows far above;
My griers ay in a circle move,
And will do till I die.
[Behold and listen while the fair]
Behold and listen while the fair
Breaks in sweet sounds the willing air,
And with her own breath fans the fire
Which her bright eyes do first inspire.
What reason can that love control,
Which more than one way courts the soul?
Breaks in sweet sounds the willing air,
183
Which her bright eyes do first inspire.
What reason can that love control,
Which more than one way courts the soul?
So when a flash of lightning falls
On our abodes, the danger calls
For human aid, which hopes the flame
To conquer, though from heaven it came:
But if the winds with that conspire,
Men strive not but deplore the fire.
On our abodes, the danger calls
For human aid, which hopes the flame
To conquer, though from heaven it came:
But if the winds with that conspire,
Men strive not but deplore the fire.
[What fury has provokt thy wit to dare]
What fury has provokt thy wit to dareWith Diomede, to wound the queen of love,
Thy mistress's envy, or thy own despair?
So blind a rage, with such a different fate;
He honour won, where thou hast purchast hate.
She gave assistance to his Trojan foe;
Thou that without a rival thou mayest love,
Dost to the beauty of this lady owe,
While after her the gazing world does move.
Canst thou not be content to love alone,
Or is thy mistress not content with one?
Hast thou not read of fairy Arthur's shield,
184
Of proudest foes, and won the doubtful field?
So shall thy rebel wit become her prize.
Should thy Iambicks swell into a book,
All were confuted with one radiant look.
Heav'n he oblig'd that plac'd her in the skies,
Rewarding Phœbus, for inspiring so
His noble brain, by likening to those eyes
His joyful beams: but Phœbus is thy foe,
And neither aids thy fancy nor thy sight;
So ill thou run'st against so fair a light.
[Such moving sounds, from such a careless touch]
Such moving sounds, from such a careless touch,So unconcern'd herself and we so much.
What art is this, that with so little pains
Transports us thus, and o'er our spirit reigns?
185
And tell their joy for every kiss aloud:
Small force there needs to make them tremble so,
Toucht by that hand who would not tremble too?
Here love takes stand, and while she charms the ear,
Empties his quiver on the list'ning deer:
Music so softens and disarms the mind,
That not an arrow does resistance find.
Thus the fair tyrant celebrates the prize,
And acts herself the triumph of her eyes.
So Nero once, with harp in hand survey'd
His flaming Rome, and as it burnt he play'd.
196
QUEEN MARY'S LAMENTATION.
I sigh and lament me in vain;
These walls can but echo my moan;
Alas! they increase but my pain,
When I think on the days that are gone.
Through the grates of my prison I see,
The birds as they wanton in air;
My heart—how it pants to be free!
My looks—they are wild with despair!
These walls can but echo my moan;
Alas! they increase but my pain,
When I think on the days that are gone.
Through the grates of my prison I see,
The birds as they wanton in air;
My heart—how it pants to be free!
My looks—they are wild with despair!
197
Above, tho' opprest by my fate,
I burn with contempt for my foes:
Though fortune has alter'd my state,
She ne'er can subdue me to those.
False woman in ages to come,
Thy malice detested shall be;
And, when I am cold in my tomb,
Some heart still shall sorrow for me.
I burn with contempt for my foes:
Though fortune has alter'd my state,
She ne'er can subdue me to those.
False woman in ages to come,
Thy malice detested shall be;
And, when I am cold in my tomb,
Some heart still shall sorrow for me.
Ye roofs, where cold damps and dismay,
With silence and solitude dwell,
How comfortless passes the day,
How sad tolls the evening bell!
The owls from the battlements cry,
Hollow winds seem to murmur around;
O! Mary, prepare thee to die!
My blood it runs cold at the sound.
With silence and solitude dwell,
How comfortless passes the day,
How sad tolls the evening bell!
The owls from the battlements cry,
Hollow winds seem to murmur around;
O! Mary, prepare thee to die!
My blood it runs cold at the sound.
LAMENT
OF MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS, On the Approach of Spring.
Now Nature hangs her mantle green
On every blooming tree,
And spreads her sheets o' daises white
Out o'er the grassy lea:
Now Phœbus cheers the crystal streams,
And glads the azure skies;
But nought can glad the weary wight
That fast in durance lies.
On every blooming tree,
And spreads her sheets o' daises white
Out o'er the grassy lea:
198
And glads the azure skies;
But nought can glad the weary wight
That fast in durance lies.
Now laverocks wake the merry morn,
Aloft on dewy wing;
The merle in his noontide bow'r,
Makes woodland echoes ring;
The mavis wild wi' many a note,
Sings drowsy day to rest:
In love and freedom they rejoice,
Wi' care nor thrall opprest.
Aloft on dewy wing;
The merle in his noontide bow'r,
Makes woodland echoes ring;
The mavis wild wi' many a note,
Sings drowsy day to rest:
In love and freedom they rejoice,
Wi' care nor thrall opprest.
Now blooms the lily by the bank,
The primrose down the brae;
The hawthorn's budding in the glen,
And milk white is the slae:
The meanest hind in all Scotland
May rove their sweets amang;
But I the Queen of à Scotland,
Maun lie in prison strang.
The primrose down the brae;
The hawthorn's budding in the glen,
And milk white is the slae:
The meanest hind in all Scotland
May rove their sweets amang;
But I the Queen of à Scotland,
Maun lie in prison strang.
I was the queen o' bonnie France,
Where happy I hae been;
Fu' lightly rase I in the morn,
As blythe lay down at e'en.
And I'm the sovereign of Scotland,
And mony a traitor there;
Yet here I lie in foreign bands,
And never ending care.
Where happy I hae been;
Fu' lightly rase I in the morn,
As blythe lay down at e'en.
And I'm the sovereign of Scotland,
And mony a traitor there;
Yet here I lie in foreign bands,
And never ending care.
199
But as for thee, thou false woman,
My sister and my fae,
Grim vengeance yet shall whet a sword
That thro' thy soul shall gae:
The weeping blood in woman's breast
Was never known to thee;
Nor th' balm that drops on wounds of woe
Frae woman's pitying e'e.
My sister and my fae,
Grim vengeance yet shall whet a sword
That thro' thy soul shall gae:
The weeping blood in woman's breast
Was never known to thee;
Nor th' balm that drops on wounds of woe
Frae woman's pitying e'e.
My son! my son! may kinder stars
Upon thy fortune shine;
And may those pleasures gild thy reign,
That ne'er wa'd blink on mine!
God keep thee frae thy mother's faes,
Or turn their hearts to thee;
And where thou meet'st thy mother's friend,
Remember him for me!
Upon thy fortune shine;
And may those pleasures gild thy reign,
That ne'er wa'd blink on mine!
God keep thee frae thy mother's faes,
Or turn their hearts to thee;
And where thou meet'st thy mother's friend,
Remember him for me!
O! soon, to me, may summer's suns
Nae mair light up the morn!
Nae mair to me, the autumn winds
Wave o'er the yellow corn!
And in the narrow house o' death
Let winter round me rave;
And the next flow'rs that deck the spring,
Bloom on my peaceful grave.
Nae mair light up the morn!
Nae mair to me, the autumn winds
Wave o'er the yellow corn!
And in the narrow house o' death
Let winter round me rave;
And the next flow'rs that deck the spring,
Bloom on my peaceful grave.
216
ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS.
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 bloomy park their revels take.
And gently stir the bosom of the lake:
The fawns that panting in the covert lay,
Now thro' the bloomy park their revels take.
Pale rise the rugged hills that skirt the North,
The wood glows yellow by the evening rays,
Silent and beauteous flows the silver Forth,
And Aman murmuring thro' the willows strays.
The wood glows yellow by the evening rays,
Silent and beauteous flows the silver Forth,
And Aman murmuring thro' the willows strays.
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 song of love,
The songs of love, of innocence, and joy.
Where oft the wild notes sooth'd the love-sick boy?
Why cease in Mary's bower the song of love,
The songs of love, of innocence, and joy.
When bright the lake reflects the setting ray,
The sportive virgins tread the flowery green;
And by the moon, full oft in cheerful May,
The merry bride maids at the dance are seen.
The sportive virgins tread the flowery green;
And by the moon, full oft in cheerful May,
The merry bride maids at the dance are seen.
217
But who those 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' aerial train,
Tall as the sylvan Goddess of the Bow,
And fair as she who wept Adonis slain.
Appears the lady of th' aerial train,
Tall as the sylvan Goddess of the Bow,
And fair as she who wept Adonis slain.
Such was the pomp when Gilead's virgin band,
Wandering by Judah's flowering mountains, wept,
And with fair Iphis by the hallowed strand
Of Siloe's brook a mournful sabbath kept.
Wandering by Judah's flowering mountains, wept,
And with fair Iphis by the hallowed 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!
“O stay, ye Dryads, nor unfinish'd fly
“Your solemn rights: here comes no foot profane:
“The Muse's son, and hallowed is his eye,
“Implores your stay, implores to join the strain.
“Your solemn rights: here comes no foot profane:
“The Muse's son, and hallowed 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,
“O say, what music will her soul appease?”
“Alas! what faultering sounds of woe be these!
“Ye nymphs, who fondly watch her languid eyes,
“O say, what music will her soul appease?”
“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.
218
“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 frame 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 frame has breath'd its blighting dew.
“But come, ye nymphs, ye woodland spirits, come,
“And with funereal flowers your tresses braid,
“While in this hallowed grove we raise the tomb,
“And consecrate the song to Mary's shade.
“And with funereal flowers your tresses braid,
“While in this hallowed grove 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 liveliest 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 liveliest grace;
“When Nature's happiest touch could add no more,
“Heaven lent an angel's beauty to her face.
“Oh! whether by the moss-grown bushy dell,
“Where from the oak depends the missletoe,
“Where creeping ivy shades the druid's cell,
“Where from the rock the gurgling water's flow;
“Where from the oak depends the missletoe,
“Where creeping ivy shades the druid's cell,
“Where from the rock the gurgling water's flow;
“Or whether sportive o'er the cowslip beds,
“You thro' the haunted dales of Mona glide,
“Or brush the upland lea, where Cynthia sheds
“Her silvery light on Snowdon's hoary side:
“You thro' the haunted dales of Mona glide,
“Or brush the upland lea, where Cynthia sheds
“Her silvery light on Snowdon's hoary side:
“Hither, ye gentle guardians of the fair,
“By virtue's tears, by weeping beauty come;
“Unbind the festive robe, unbind the hair,
“And wave the cypress bough at Mary's tomb.
“By virtue's tears, by weeping beauty come;
“Unbind the festive robe, unbind the hair,
“And wave the cypress bough at Mary's tomb.
“And come, ye fleet magicians of the air,”
The mournful lady of the chorus cry'd,
“Your airy tints of baleful hue prepare,
“And thro' this grove bid Mary's fortunes glide.
The mournful lady of the chorus cry'd,
“Your airy tints of baleful hue prepare,
“And thro' this grove bid Mary's fortunes glide.
219
“And let the song with solemn harping 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 herse succeeds.
“And struggling factions shake her native throne.
“Her eighteenth April hears her widow'd moan;
“The bridal bed the sable herse succeeds.
“And struggling factions shake her native throne.
“No more a goddess in the swimming dance
“Mayst thou, O queen, thy lovely form display;
“No more thy beauty reign the charm of France,
“Nor in Versaille's proud bowers outshine the day.
“Mayst thou, O queen, thy lovely form display;
“No more thy beauty reign the charm of France,
“Nor in Versaille's proud bowers outshine the day.
“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.
“Domestic bliss, that dear, that sovereign joy,
“Far from her hearth was seen to speed away;
“Straight dark-brow'd factions entering in destroy
“The seeds of peace, and mark her for their prey.
“Far from her hearth was seen to speed away;
“Straight dark-brow'd factions entering in destroy
“The seeds of peace, and mark her for their prey.
220
“No more by moon shine to the nuptial bower
“Her Francis comes, by Love's soft fetters led;
“For 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;
“For other spouse now wakes her midnight hour,
“Enrag'd, and reeking from the harlot's bed.
“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 plowman's visage wears,
And red with slaughter lies the harvest fields.
Instead of crooks the Grampian shepherds wield;
Fanatic rage the plowman's visage wears,
And red with slaughter lies the harvest fields.
From Borthwick field, deserted and forlorn,
The beauteous queen all tears is seen to fly;
Now thro' the streets a weeping captive borne,
Her woes the triumph of the vulgar eye.
The beauteous queen all tears is seen to fly;
Now thro' the streets a weeping captive borne,
Her woes the triumph of the vulgar eye.
Again the vision shifts the fatal scene,
Again forlorn from rebel arms she flies,
And, unsuspecting, on a sister queen
The lovely injured fugitive relies.
Again forlorn from rebel arms she flies,
And, unsuspecting, on a sister queen
The lovely injured 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.
221
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 shrinks aghast.
Deform'd the airy scenery as it past;
The haunt where listless melancholy dwells,
Where every genial feeling shrinks 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!
“O generous passion, peace, forbear, forbear!
“Ah! cease to tell it in the female ear;
“A woman's stern command! a proffer'd friend!
“O generous passion, peace, forbear, forbear!
“And could, O Tudor, could thy breast retain
“No softening thoughts 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 thoughts 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 pang thy memory knew,
“Dry'd were the tears which for thyself had flow'd;
“Dark politics alone engaged thy view;
“With female jealousy thy bosom glow'd.
“Dry'd were the tears which for thyself had flow'd;
“Dark politics alone engaged 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?
“No:—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?
“No:—Mary's fate thy name shall ever brand,
“And ever o'er her woes shall pity bleed
“The babe that prattled on his nurse's knee,
“When first thy woful captive hours began,
“Ere heaven, oh hapless Mary! set thee free,
“That babe to battle march'd in arms a man.”
“When first thy woful captive hours began,
“Ere heaven, oh hapless Mary! set thee free,
“That babe to battle march'd in arms a man.”
222
A nawful pause ensues—With speaking eyes,
And hands half raised 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 raised 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 halberts guard the iron door.
The thirsty saw dust strews the marble floor,
Blue gleams the ax, the block its shoulders rears,
And pikes and halberts guard the iron door.
The clouded moon her dreary glimpses shed,
And Mary's maids, a mournful train, pass by;
Languid they walk, and listless hang the head,
And silent tears pace down from every eye.
And Mary's maids, a mournful train, pass by;
Languid they walk, and listless hang the head,
And silent tears pace down from every eye.
Serene and nobly mild appears the queen,
She smiles on heaven, and bows the injur'd head;
The ax is lifted—From the dreadful scene,
The guardian turn'd, and all the picture fled.
She smiles on heaven, and bows the injur'd head;
The ax is lifted—From the dreadful scene,
The guardian turn'd, and all the picture fled.
It fled: the wood nymphs o'er the distant lawn,
As wrapt in vision, dart their earnest eyes,
So when the huntsman hears the rustling fawn,
He stands impatient of the starting prize.
As wrapt in vision, dart their earnest eyes,
So when the huntsman hears the rustling fawn,
He stands impatient of the starting prize.
The sovereign dame her awful eye-balls roll'd,
As Luma's maid when by the God inspir'd;
“The depths of ages to my sight unfold,”
She cries, “and Mary's meed my breast has fir'd.
As Luma's maid when by the God inspir'd;
“The depths 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, where ever roars the main,
“Stream to the wind, and awe the trembling world.
“Age after age shall see their flag unfurl'd
“With sovereign pride, where ever roars the main,
“Stream to the wind, and awe the trembling world.
223
“Nor in their Britain shall they reign alone,
“Age after age through lengthening time shall see,
“Her branching race on Europe's every throne,
“And Goths and Vandals bend to them the knee.
“Age after age through lengthening time shall see,
“Her branching race on Europe's every throne,
“And Goths and Vandals bend to them the knee.
“But Tudor as a fruitless gourd shall die;
“I see her death scene—On the lonely floor,
“Dreary she sits, cold grief has glass'd her eye,
“And anguish gnaws her till she breathes no more.
“I see her death scene—On the lonely floor,
“Dreary she sits, cold grief has glass'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 her baleful yell!
Oh! save, ye generous few, your Mary's tomb,
Oh! save her ashes from the blasting spell:
Faction is rous'd and sends her baleful yell!
Oh! save, ye generous few, your Mary's tomb,
Oh! save her ashes from the blasting spell:
“And see where Time with brightened 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.
“Falsehood unmask'd, withdraws her ugly train,
“And Mary's virtues all illustrious shine—
“Yes, thou hast friends—the goodlike and humane
“Of latest ages, injur'd queen, are thine.”
“And Mary's virtues all illustrious shine—
“Yes, thou hast friends—the goodlike and humane
“Of latest ages, injur'd queen, are thine.”
The milky splendors of the dawning ray
Now thro' the groves a trembling radiance shed,
With sprightly note the woodlark hail'd the day,
And with the moonshine all the vision fled.
Now thro' the groves a trembling radiance shed,
With sprightly note the woodlark hail'd the day,
And with the moonshine all the vision fled.
FINIS.
| Effusions of Love from Chatelar to Mary, Queen of Scotland | |