A thousand lives were perishing in thine : "Ha! there's a deathless name A spirit, that the smothering vault shall spurn, Consumed my brain to ashes as it won me, "Ay, though it bid me rifle My heart's last fount for its insatiate thirst; The yearning in my throat for my sweet child, "All, I would do it all, Sooner than die, like a dull worm, to rot; O heavens! but I appal Your heart, old man! forgive-Ha! on your lives, "Vain, vain; give o'er! His eye Glazes apace. He does not feel you now- But for one moment-one-till I eclipse 'Shivering! Hark! he mutters Brokenly now-that was a difficult breath- Another? Wilt thou never come, oh Death? Is his heart still? Aha! lift up his head! ROME-BYRON. O Rome! my country! city of the soul! The orphans of the heart must turn to theeLone mother of dead empires! and control, In their shut breasts their petty misery. What are your woes and sufferance? Come and see A world is at our feet as fragile as our clay. The Niobe of nations! there she stands, Of their heroic dwellers: dost thou flow, Rise, with thy yellow waves, and mantle her distress! The Goth, the Christian, time, war, flood, and fire, And say, "here was, or is," where all is doubly night? The double night of ages, and of her, Night's daughter, Ignorance, hath wrapt and wrap Alas! the lofty city! and alas! The trebly hundred triumphs! and the day Alas! for earth; for never shall we see That brightness in her eye she bore when Rome was free! THE EXECUTION OF QUEEN MARY.-LAMARTINE. THE Queen arrived in the hall of death. Pale, but unflinching, she contemplated the dismal preparations. There lay the block and the axe. There stood the executioner and his assistant. All were clothed in mourning. On the floor was scattered the sawdust which was to soak her blood, and in a dark corner lay the bier which was to be her last prison. It was nine o'clock when the Queen appeared in the funeral hall. Fletcher, Dean of Peterborough, and certain privileged persons, to the number of more than two hundred, were assembled. The hall was hung with black cloth; the scaffold, which was elevated about two feet and a half above the ground, was covered with black frieze of Lancaster; the arm-chair in which Mary was to sit, the footstool on which she was to kneel, the block on which her head was to be laid, were covered with black velvet. The Queen was clothed in mourning like the hall and as the ensigns of punishment. Her black velvet robe, with its high collar and hanging sleeves, was bordered with ermine. Her mantle, lined with marten sable, was of satin, with pearl buttons, and a long train. A chain of sweet-smelling beads, to which was attached a scapulary, and beneath that a golden cross, fell upon her bosom. Two rosaries were suspended to her girdle, and a long veil of white lace, which in some measure softened this costume of a widow and of a condemned criminal was thrown around her. Arrived on the scaffold, Mary seated herself in the chair provided for her, with her face toward the spectators. The Dean of Peterborough, in ecclesiastical costume, sat on the right of the Queen, with a black velvet footstool before him. The Earls of Kent and Shrewsbury were seated like him on the right, but upon larger chairs. On the other side of the Queen stood the Sheriff Andrews, with white wand. In front of Mary were seen the executioner and his assistant, distinguishable by their vestments of black velvet, with red crape round the left arm. Behind the Queen's chair, ranged by the wall, wept her attendants and maidens. In the body of the hall, the nobles and citizens from the neighboring counties were guarded by the musketeers of Sir Amyas Paulet and Sir Drew Drury. Beyond the balustrade was the bar of the tribunal. The sentence was read; the Queen protested against it in the name of royalty and of innocence, but accepted death for the sake of the faith. She then knelt before the block, and the executioner proceeded to remove her veil. She repelled him by a gesture, and turning toward the Earls with a blush on her forehead, “I am not accustomed," she said, "to be undressed before so numerous a company, and by the hands of such grooms of the chamber." She then called Jane Kennedy and Elizabeth Curle, who took off her mantle, her veil, her chains, cross and scapulary. On their touching her robe, the Queen told them to unloose the corsage, and fold down the ermine collar, so as to leave her neck bare for the axe. Her maidens weepingly yielded her these last services. Melvil and the three other attendants wept and lamented, and Mary placed her finger on her lips to signify that they should be silent. She then arranged the handkerchief embroidered with thistles of gold, with which her eyes had been covered by Jane Kennedy. Thrice she kissed the crucifix, each time repeating, "Lord, into thy hands I commend my spirit." She knelt anew, and leant her head on that block which was already scored with deep marks; and in this solemn attitude she again recited some verses from the Psalms. The executioner interrupted her at the third verse by a blow of the axe, but its trembling stroke only grazed her neck; she groaned slightly, and the second blow separated the head from the body. EARTH, WITH HER THOUSAND VOICES, PRAISES GOD.-LONGFELLOW. When first, in ancient time, from Jubal's tongue, The tuneful anthem filled the morning air, To sacred hymnings and Elysian song His music-breathing shell the minstrel woke. THE LADIES' READER. OF CAL TORNA And birds sang forth their cheerful hymns. Below Struggled and gushed amongst the tangled roots, Men felt the heavenly influence; and it stole And even the air they breathed,-the light they saw,- That to soft music wakes the chords of feeling, And mellows everything to beauty, moved With cheering energy within their breasts, That, wrapped in darkness, moved upon its face. Touched like a heavenly anthem on the ear; For it arose a tuneful hymn of worship. And have our hearts grown cold? Are there on earth No pure reflections caught from heavenly love? Have our mute lips no hymn-our souls no song? Let him, that, in the summer-day of youth, Keeps pure the holy fount of youthful feeling, 397 |