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Sat Mary, listening to the rain, and sighing with the winds,
wield. She thought on all her blighted hopes, the dreams of youth's
brief day, Then summoned Rizzio with his lute, and bade the minstrel play The songs she loved in early years, the songs of gay Navarre, The songs, perchance, that erst were sung by gallant Chatelar; They half beguiled her of her cares, they soothed her into smiles, They won her thoughts from bigotzeal, and fierce domestic broils ;-But hark! the tramp of armed men—the Douglas battle-cryThey come—they come—and lo! the scowl of Ruthven'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 brushed aside the tears that trickling fell“Now for my father's arm,” she cried, “ my woman's heart, fare
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 trait'rous scroll that snatched 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 sbore, to aid my cause and me, That parchment would I scatter wide to ev'ry breeze that blows, And once more reign a Stuart queen o'er my remorseless foes.”— A red spot burned upon her cheek, streamed her rich tresses down, She wrote the words, she stood erect, a queen without a crown!
MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS.
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 stayed her steed upon a hill, she saw them marching by, She heard their shouts, she read success in every flashing eye;The tumult and the strife begins,—it roars,--it dies away, And Mary's troops and banners now, and courtiers,—where are
they ? Scattered and strewn, and flying far, defenceless and undone,O God! to think what she hath lost, and think what guilt hath
won! Away! away! thy gallant steed must act no laggard's partYet vain his speed, for thou dost bear the arrow in thy heart!
The scene was changed. Beside the block the sullen headsman
stood, And gleamed the broadaxe in his hand, that soon must drip with
blood. With slow and steady step there came a lady though the hall, And breathless silence chained the lips, and touched the hearts
of all. Rich were the sable robes she wore, her white veil round her fell, And from her neck there hung the cross, the cross she loved so
well. I knew that queenly form again, though blighted was its bloom,I saw that grief had decked it out an offering for the tomb! I knew the eye, though faint its light, that once so brightly shone; I knew the voice, though feeble now, that thrilled with every tone; I knew the ringlets, almost gray, once threads of living gold; I 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 sunned themselves beneath her glance, and round her foot
steps bowed !
-Her neck is bared—the blow is struck the soul is passed away!
THEY are sleeping, softly sleeping,
1 By the hillsides and the streams,
And the Rappahannock gleams;
And the fair magnolia blooms:
O'er our unmarked soldiers' tombs.
Where the tropic wind is breathing,
O’er the sunny “land of flowers,"
Through the Summer's golden hours..
Heeding not the orphan’s moan,
Far from loving ones and home.
Unwatched, not unwept, they slumber,
Ah! but where are they who mourn,
For the forms that ne'er return ?
Where the glad Rhine flashes bright,
There are lonely hearts to-night.
THERE'S a story that's told of a Gypsy who dwelt
1 In the land where the Pyramids be;
With devices, right wondrous to see;
On His mother's immaculate breast;
He went down with St. Joseph the blest.
THE FLIGHT INTO EGYPT.
This Egyptian held converse with magic, methinks,
And the future was given to her gaze,
On her threshold kept vigil always.
In the haunts of the dissolute crowd ;
Or with visitors wrapped in a shroud.
And there came an old man from the desert one day,
With a maid on a mule, by that road;
Led them straight to the Gypsy's abode;
From their home, many, many a league-
Spent with toil and o’ercome with fatigue.
And the Gypsy came forth from her dwelling, and prayed
That the pilgrims would rest them awhile;
Who had come many, many a mile,
And she begged the old man would repose;
And the wanderer balm for his woes."
Then her guests from the glare of the noonday she led
To a seat in her grotto so cool;
With a manger she found for the mule.
All the toil of the road she beguiled;
On her bosom the wayfaring child.
Placed the infant's diminutive palm,
Of the babe, in his slumbers so calm ;