« ÎnapoiContinuați »
(7) Domestic bliss, that dear, that sovereign joy,
Far from her hearth 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-line 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.
" 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 bridal torch her Evil angel wavid,
Far from the couch offended Prudence Aed; 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 field.
c Lord Daraly; the handsomest man of his age, but a worthlefs den bauchee of no abilities,
d Her marriage with the Earl of Bothwell; an unprincipled politician of
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.
Again the vision shifts the woeful scene ;
Again forlorn from rebel arms she flies, And unsuspecting on a fifter 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 Ami&tion'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;
Where every genial feeling shrinks aghaft.
eye her fickly bed to tend f! " Ah cease to tell it in the female ear! “ A woman's stern command ! a proffer'd friend !
“ Oh generous passion, peace, forbear, forbear! “ And could, oh Tudor, could thy breast retain
¢ When she was brought prisoner through the streets of Edinburgh, the suffered almost every indignity which an enraged mob could offer. Her person was bedaubed with mire, and her ear insulted with every term of vulgar abuse. Even Buchanan when he relates these circumstances seems to drop a tear over them. f A fact.
“ No softening thought of what thy woes had been, " When thou, the heir of England's crown, in vain
• Didît sue the mercy of a tyrant Queen?
66 And could no pang
from tender “ And feel those woes that once had been thine own; " No pleading tear to drop for Mary's fake,
“ For Mary's fake, 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.
" 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.
* The babe that prattled on his nurse's knee,
“ When first thy woeful captive hours began, " Ere heaven, oh hapless 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 flow 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 faw-duft ftrews 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 fhed,
And Mary's maids, a mournful train, pass by ; Languid they walk, and listless hang the head,
And filent 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 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 rustling 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 depths of ages to my fight unfold,"
She cries, “ and Mary's meed my breast has fired,
66 On Tudor's throne her Sons shall ever reign,
Age after age shall see their flag unfurid, « With sovereign pride, where-ever roars the main,
“ Stream to the wind, and awe the trembling world.
“ Nor Britain's fceptre shall they wield alone,
“ Age after age through lengthening time shall see * Her branching race on Europe's every throne,
“ And eithes 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 fits, cold Grief has glass'd her eye,
" And Anguish gnaws her till the 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 afhes from the blasting 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.
“ Fallhood unmask'd withdraws her ugly train,
“ And Mary's virtues all illustrious fhine“ Yes, thou hast friends, the godlike and humane
“ Of latest ages, injur'd Queen, are thine."