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Here Louis, Prince of Condé, wears his all unc

nconquered sword, With great Coligni by his side-each name a household

word ! And there walks she of Medicis—that proud Italian

line, The mother of a race of kings—the haughty Catherine ! The forms that follow in her train, a glorious sunshine

makeA milky way of stars that grace a comet's glittering

wake; But fairer far than all the rest who bask on Fortune's

tide, Effulgent in the light of youth, is she, the new-made

bride! The homage of a thousand hearts—the fond deep love

of one The hopes that dance around a life whose charms are

but begun They lighted up her chestnut eye, they mantle o'er her

cheek, They sparkle on her open brow, and high-sould joy

bespeak. Ah! who shall blame, if scarce that day, through all

its brilliant hours, She thought of that quiet convent's calm, its sunshine

and its flowers ?

PART II.

It was a labouring bark that slowly held its way,
And o'er its lee the coast of France in the light of

evening lay; And on its deck a lady sat, who gazed with tearful

eyes *Upon the fast-receding hills that dim and distant rise. No marvel that the lady wept—there was no land on

earth She ved like that dear land, although she owed it not

her birth; VI.

It was her mother's land, the land of childhood and of

friendsIt was the land where she had found for all her griefs

amends The land where her dead husband slept—the land where

she had known The tranquil convent's hush'd repose, and the splen

dours of a throne : No marvel that the lady wept-it was the land of

France The chosen home of chivalry—the garden of romance ! The past was bright, like those dear hills so far behind

her bark ; The future, like the gathering night, was ominous and

dark !

One gaze again-one long, last gaze-"Adieu, fair

France, to thee !" The breeze comes forth-she is alone on the uncon

scious sea.

The scene was changed. It was an eve of raw and

surly mood, And in a turret-chamber high of ancient Holyrood Sat Mary, listening to the rain, and sighing with the

winds, That seem'd to suit the stormy state of men's uncertain

minds. The touch of care had blanch'd her cheek-her smile

was sadder now, The weight of royalty had pressid too heavy on her

brow; And traitors to her councils came, and rebels to the field; The Stuart sceptre well she sway'd, but the sword she

could not wield. She thought of all her blighted hopes—the dreams of

youth's brief day, And summon'd Rizzio with his lute, and bade the

minstrel play

The songs she lov'd in early years—the songs of gay

Navarre, The songs perchance that erst were sung by gallant

Chatelar: They half beguil'd her of her cares, they sooth'd her

into smiles, They won her thought from bigot zeal, and fierce do

mestic broils. But hark! the tramp of armed men! the Douglas'

battle-cry! They come- —they come—and lo! the scowl of Ruth

ven's hollow eye! And swords are drawn, and daggers gleam, and tears

and words are vain, The ruffian steel is in his heart-the faithful Rizzio's slain! Then Mary Stuart brush'd aside the tears that trickling

fell! "Now for my

father's arm !” she said; heart, farewell !”

my woman's

The scene was changed. It was a lake, with one small

lonely isle, And there, within the prison-walls of its baronial pile, Stern men stood menacing their queen, till she should

stoop to sign The traitorous scroll that snatch'd the crown from her

ancestral line: “My lords, my lords!" the captive said, “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 remorse

less foes !” A red spot burn'd upon her cheek_stream'd her rich

tresses down, She wrote the words—she stood erect-a queen with

out a crown!

PART III.

The scene was changed. A royal host a royal banner

bore, And the faithful of the land stood round their smiling

Queen once more; She staid her steed upon a hill—she saw them marching

byShe heard their shouts—she read success in every

flashing eye;The tumult of the strife begins-it roars—it dies

away; And Mary's troops, and banners now, and courtiers

where are they? Scatter'd and strewn, and flying far, defenceless and

undone O God! to see what she has lost, and think what guilt

has won ! Away! away! thy gallant steed must act no laggard's

part ; Yet vain his speed, for thou dost bear the arrow in thy

heart.

The scene was changed. Beside the block a sullen

headsman stood, And gleam'd the broad axe in his hand, that soon must

drip with blood. With slow and steady step there came a lady through

the hall, And breathless silence chain’d the lips, and touch'd the

hearts of all : Rich were the sable robes she wore- her white veil

round her fell, And from her neck there hung a cross- -the cross she

lov'd so well! I knew that queenly form again, though blighted was

its bloomI saw that grief had deck'd it out-an offering for the I knew the eye, though faint its light, that once so

tomb!

brightly shoneI knew the voice, though feeble now, that thrill'd with

every toneI knew the ringlets, almost grey, once threads of living

goldI knew that bounding grace of step—that symmetry of

mould ! Even now I see her far away, in that calm convent

aisle, I hear her chant her vesper-hymn, I mark her holy

smile Even now I see her bursting forth, upon her bridal

morn, A new star in the firmament, to light and glory born! Alas! the change ! she placed her foot upon a triple

throne, And on the scaffold now she stands-beside the block,

alone! The little dog that licks her hand, the last of all the

crowd Who sunn'd themselves beneath her glance, and round

her footsteps bow'd ! Her neck is bared—the block is struck--the soul is

pass'd away; The bright-the beautiful is now a bleeding piece of

clay! The dog is moaning piteously; and, as it gurgles o'er, Laps the warm blood that trickling runs unheeded to

the floor! The blood of beauty, wealth and power—the heart

blood of a queenThe noblest of the Stuart race—the fairest earth had

seen

Lapp'd by a dog! Go, think of it, in silence and

alone; Then weigh against a grain of sand the glories of a

throne !

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