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THE PILGRIM AND THE PEAS.
A nostrum famous in old Popish times
A sort of apostolic salt
That Popish priests did for its powers exalt,
But very different was their speed, I wot.
The other limped as if he had been shot.
Had his soul whitewashed all so clever; Then home again he nimbly hied,
Made fit, with saints above, to live for ever. In coming back, however, let me say, He met his brother rogue about half-way, Hobbling, with outstretched neck, and bending knees, And muttering—not blessings—on the peas; His eyes in tears, bis weary limbs dead beat, And sympathising with his aching feet. “How now?" the light-toed, whitewashed pilgrim broke,
“You lazy lubber!”
Are now as soft as blubber!
What power hath worked a wonder for your toes ;
Whilst not a rascal comes to ease my woes?
Merry, as if that nought had happen'd, burn ye?" “Why,” said the other, grinning, you must know,
That just before I ventured on my journey, To walk a little more at ease, . I took the liberty to boil 27 y peas." Peter Pindar. (131
• MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS.
I LOOK'D far back into other years, and lo ! in bright array
footstep falls ;
please ; And little reck'd they, when they sang, or knelt at vesper
prayers, That Sootland knew no prouder names, held none more
dear than theirs ; And little even the loveliest thought, before the Virgin's
shrine, Of royal blood, and high descent from the ancient Stuart line. Calmly her happy days flew on, uncounted in the flight,', And, as they flew, they left behind a long-continuing light. The scene was changed. It was the court—the gay court
of Bourbon ; And 'neath a thousand silver lamps a thousand courtiers
throng ; And proudly kindles Henry's eye--well pleased I ween to
see The land assemble all its wealth of grace and chivalry.' Grey Montmorency, o'er whose head had passed a storm
of years, Strong in himself and children, stands the first among his
peers ; And next the Guises, who so well fame's steepest heights
assailed, And walked ambition’s diamond ridge, where bravest
hearts have faild; And higher yet their path shall be stronger shall wax
. MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS.
For before 'hem Montmorency's star shall pale its waning
light. Here Louis, Prince of Condé, wears his all unconquered
sword, With great Coligni by his side—each name a household
word ! And there walks she of Medici— 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 glittering comet's
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
oneThe hopes that dance around a life whose charms are but
begunThey lighted up her chestnut eye, they mantle o'er her
cheek, They sparkle on her open brow, and high-soul'd 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 barque 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 loved like that dear land, although she owed it not
her birth; It was her mother's land, the land of childhood and of
friendsIt was the land where she had found for all her griefs
amendsThe land where her dead husband slept—the land where
she had known The tranquil convent's hushed repose, and the splendours
of a throne.
MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS.
133 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
barque, 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 unconscious
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 nowThe weight of royalty had press'd 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 summoned Rizzio with his lute, and bade the minstrel
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 sooth'd her into
smiles, They won her thought from bigot zeal and fierce domestic
broils. But hark ! the tramp of armed men, the Douglas' battle-cry! They come—they come—and lo! the scowl of Ruthven's
hollow eye! And swords are drawn, and daggers gleam, and tears and
words are vainThe ruffian steel is in his heart—the faithful Rizzio's slain! 5.134
:: MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. Then Mary Stuart brush'd aside the tears that trickling
fell ! “Now for my father's arm !” she said; “my woman's
heart farewell !" 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 downShe wrote the words--she stood erect—a queen without 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 fishing
eye. The tumult of 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. Oh, God ! to see what she has lost, and think what guilt
has won ! Away! away! thy gallant steed must act nó laggard's
part; Yet vain his speed, for thou dost bear the arrows in thy