And on its deck a Lady sat, who gazed with * Receding, fading from Upon the fast receding hills, that dim and distant rise. view. Marvel, no wonder. Her mother's land, of the Duke of Guise. Tranquil, peaceful. Ominous, threatening. Holyrood, the residence of the Scottish sovereigns in Edin burgh. This scene relates to the murder of Rizzio, an Italian musician, whom Mary promoted to the office of her secretary. Darnley, the Queen's husband, led the con spirators up a secret stair to Mary's private room, where she was sitting at supper with a few of her attendants and Rizzio. Blanched, made pale. * No marvel that the lady wept, there was no She loved like that dear land, although she It was her mother's land,* the land of child- It was the land where she had found for all The land where her dead husband slept-the 45 The tranquil * convent's hushed repose, and the 50 No marvel that the lady wept-it was the land [romance! The future, like the gathering night, was omi- * One gaze again-one long, last gaze-"Adieu, 55 The breeze comes forth-she is alone on the The scene was changed. It was an eve of raw [rood* Sat That seemed to suit the stormy state of men's 60 The touch of care had blanched * her cheek- The weight of royalty had pressed too heavy And traitors to her councils came, and rebels to The Stuart sceptre well she swayed, but the She thought of all her blighted hopes-the 65 And summoned Rizzio with his lute, and bade The songs she loved in early years—the songs of gay Navarre ; * * The songs perchance that erst were sung by They half beguiled her of her cares, they 70 They won her thoughts from bigot zeal and But hark! the tramp of armèd men! * the They come !-they come !-and lo! the scowl And swords are drawn, and daggers gleam, and Douglas, James Douglas, Earl of Morton, The ruffian steel is in his heart-the faithful was a leading accom Rizzio's slain ! 75 Then Mary Stuart dashed aside the tears that "Now for my father's arm!" she said; "my The scene was changed. It was a lake with And there, within the prison-walls of its baro- Stern men stood menacing* their queen, till 80 The traitorous scroll* that snatched the crown plice in the murder of Rizzio. In 1572 he became Regent, and was beheaded in 1581, as being found accessory to the mur der of Darnley. Ruthven (Riven), a Scotch lord, who, with Lord Lindsay, conveyed Mary to Lochleven Castle in Traitorous scroll, the nobles required Mary, on pain of death, to "My lords-my lords!" the captive said, sign a document re"were I but once more free, With ten good knights on yonder shore to aid my cause and me, That parchment would I scatter wide to every breeze that blows, And once more reign a Stuart Queen o'er my * remorseless foes!" 85 A red spot burned upon her cheek-streamed She wrote the words-she stood erect-a Queen The scene was changel. A royal host * a royal And the faithful of the land stood round their signing the crown in favour of her son. Remorseless, pitiless. A royal host, Mary having escaped from rallied round her 6000 men. Lochleven, She was totally defeated at Langside, near Glasgow. She stayed her steed upon a hill-she saw She heard their shouts-she read success in 90 * Tumult, uproar, great The tumult of the strife begins-it roars-it noise. dies away; And Mary's troops and banners now, and Scattered and strewn, and flying far, defence- Alas! to think what she has lost, and all that Away!* away! thy gallant steed must act no 95 Yet vain his speed-for thou dost bear the The scene was changed. Beside the block * a And gleamed the broad axe in his hand, that With slow and steady step there came a Lady And breathless silence chained the lips and 100 I knew that queenly form again, though I saw that grief had decked it out-an offering for the tomb! I knew the eye, though faint its light, that I knew the voice, though feeble now, that I knew the ringlets, almost gray, once threads 105 I knew that bounding grace of step-that [vent isle, Even now I see her far away, in that calm con- holy smile, Even now I see her bursting forth upon the bridal morn, [born! A new star in the firmament, to light and glory 110 a triple throne,* And on the scaffold now she stands-beside the block-alone! The little dog that licks her hand, the last of Who sunned themselves beneath her glance 115 Her neck is bared-the blow is struck-the The bright, the beautiful, is now-a bleeding The dog is moaning piteously;* and, as it * Laps the warm blood that trickling runs un- The blood of beauty, wealth, and power-the 120 The noblest of the Stuart race-the fairest Lapped by a dog! Go think of it, in silence Then weigh against a grain of sand the glories Piteously, sadly, mournfully. Laps, drinks or licks up with the tongue. THE DYING CHRISTIAN TO HIS SOUL.-Pope. * VITAL spark of heavenly flame! Hark! they whisper-angels say, The world recedes!* it disappears! * Lend, lend your wings! I mount! I fly! O Death! where is thy sting? Vital, that which gives life. Bliss, happiness, pleasure. Strife, struggling for victory. Absorbs, to take up one's entire attention. Recedes, fading from sight. Seraphic, angelic, pure, sublime. THE SONG OF THE SHIRT.*—T. Hood. THOMAS HOOD (1798–1845) was born in London. He was a great humourist and poet. Apprenticed to an engraver in his youth, he soon left business for literature, and delighted the world for many years with his wonderful humour and wit. He was buried at Kensal Green, with the epitaph chosen by himself, "He sang the Song of the Shirt."-Other works: Whims and Oddities, The Bridge of Sighs, The Dream of Eugene Aram, &c. The Song of the Shirt. This beautiful poem appeared first in the Christmas number of Punch for 1843; it ran like wildfire, and caused a great sensation throughout the country. It served to draw attention to the needlewomen, and it made Hood famous. |