MARY
,
QUEEN
OF
SCOTS
:
AN
ELEGY
.
Quod
tibi
vitae
sors
detraxit
,
Fama
adjiciet
posthuma
laudi
;
Nostris
longum
tu
dolor
et
honor
.
BUCH
.
THE
balmy
Zephyrs
o'er
the
woodland
stray
,
And
gently
stir
the
bosom
of
the
lake
:
The
fawns
that
panting
in
the
covert
lay
,
Now
thro'
the
bloomy
park
their
revels
take
.
Pale
rise
the
rugged
hills
that
skirt
the
North
,
The
wood
glows
yellow
by
the
evening
rays
,
Silent
and
beauteous
flows
the
silver
Forth
,
And
Aman
murmuring
thro'
the
willows
strays
.
But
ah
!
what
means
this
silence
in
the
grove
,
Where
oft
the
wild-notes
sooth'd
the
love-sick
boy
?
Why
cease
in
Mary's
bower
the
songs
of
Love
,
The
songs
of
Love
,
of
Innocence
,
and
Joy
?
When
bright
the
lake
reflects
the
setting
ray
,
The
sportive
virgins
tread
the
flowery
green
;
And
by
the
moon
,
full
oft
in
chearful
May
,
The
merry
bride-maids
at
the
dance
are
seen
.
But
who
these
Nymphs
that
thro'
the
copse
appear
In
robes
of
white
adorn'd
with
violet
blue
?
Fondly
with
purple
flowers
they
deck
yon
bier
,
And
wave
in
solemn
pomp
the
boughs
of
yew
.
Supreme
in
grief
,
her
eye
confus'd
with
woe
,
Appears
the
Lady
of
th'
aërial
train
,
Tall
as
the
sylvan
Goddess
of
the
bow
,
And
fair
as
she
who
wept
Adonis
slain
.
Such
was
the
pomp
when
Gilead's
virgin
band
,
Wandering
by
Judah's
flowery
mountains
,
wept
,
And
with
fair
Iphis
by
the
hallowed
strand
Of
Siloe's
brook
a
mournful
sabbath
kept
.
By
the
resplendent
cross
with
thistles
twin'd
,
'Tis
Mary's
Guardian
Genius
lost
in
woe
:
"
Ah
say
,
what
deepest
wrongs
have
thus
combin'd
"
To
heave
with
restless
sighs
thy
breast
of
snow
!
"
Oh
stay
,
ye
Dryads
,
nor
unfinish'd
fly
"
Your
solemn
rites
;
here
comes
no
foot
profane
:
"
The
Muses'
son
,
and
hallowed
is
his
eye
,
"
Implores
your
stay
,
implores
to
join
the
strain
.
"
See
,
from
her
cheek
the
glowing
life-blush
flies
;
"
Alas
,
what
faultering
sounds
of
woe
be
these
!
"
Ye
Nymphs
,
who
fondly
watch
her
languid
eyes
,
"
Oh
say
,
what
music
will
her
soul
appease
!
"
"
Resound
the
solemn
dirge
,
the
Nymphs
reply
,
"
And
let
the
turtles
moan
in
Mary's
bower
,
"
Let
Grief
indulge
her
grand
sublimity
,
"
And
Melancholy
wake
her
melting
power
:
"
For
Art
has
triumph'd
;
Art
,
that
never
stood
"
On
Honour's
side
,
or
generous
transport
knew
,
"
Has
dy'd
its
haggard
hands
in
Mary's
blood
,
"
And
o'er
her
fame
has
breath'd
its
blighting
dew
.
"
But
come
,
ye
Nymphs
,
ye
woodland
Spirits
,
come
,
"
And
with
funereal
flowers
your
tresses
braid
,
"
While
in
this
hallowed
grove
we
raise
the
tomb
,
"
And
consecrate
the
song
to
Mary's
shade
.
"
O
sing
what
smiles
her
youthful
morning
wore
,
"
Her's
every
charm
,
and
every
liveliest
grace
;
"
When
Nature's
happiest
touch
could
add
no
more
,
"
Heaven
lent
an
angel's
beauty
to
her
face
.
"
O
!
whether
by
the
moss
grown
bushy
dell
,
"
Where
from
the
oak
depends
the
misletoe
,
"
Where
creeping
ivy
shades
the
Druid's
cell
,
"
Where
from
the
rock
the
gurgling
waters
flow
;
"
Or
whether
sportive
o'er
the
cowslip
beds
,
"
You
thro'
the
haunted
dales
of
Mona
glide
,
"
Or
brush
the
upland
lea
,
when
Cynthia
sheds
"
Her
silvery
light
on
Snowdon's
hoary
side
:
"
Hither
,
ye
gentle
Guardians
of
the
Fair
,
"
By
Virtue's
tears
,
by
weeping
Beauty
,
come
;
"
Unbind
the
festive
robes
,
unbind
the
hair
,
"
And
wave
the
cypress
bough
at
Mary's
tomb
.
"
And
come
,
ye
fleet
Magicians
of
the
air
,
"
The
mournful
Lady
of
the
chorus
cry'd
,
"
Your
airy
tints
of
baleful
hue
prepare
,
"
And
thro'
this
grove
bid
Mary's
fortunes
glide
:
"
And
let
the
song
with
solemn
harping
join'd
,
"
And
wailing
notes
unfold
the
tale
of
woe
.
"
She
spoke
,
and
waking
thro'
the
breathing
wind
From
lyres
unseen
the
solemn
harpings
flow
.
The
song
began
:
"
How
bright
her
early
morn
!
"
What
lasting
joys
her
smiling
fate
portends
!
"
To
wield
the
awful
British
scepters
born
,
"
And
Gaul's
young
heir
her
bridal-bed
ascends
.
"
See
,
round
her
bed
,
light-floating
on
the
air
"
The
little
Loves
their
purple
wings
display
"
When
sudden
,
shrieking
at
the
dismal
glare
"
Of
funeral
torches
,
far
they
speed
away
.
"
Far
with
the
Loves
each
blissful
omen
speeds
,
"
Her
eighteenth
April
hears
her
widow'd
moan
;
"
The
bridal
bed
the
sable
hearse
succeeds
,
"
And
struggling
Factions
shake
her
native
throne
.
"
No
more
a
Goddess
in
the
swimming
dance
"
Mayst
thou
,
O
Queen
,
thy
lovely
form
display
;
"
No
more
thy
beauty
reign
the
charm
of
France
,
"
Nor
in
Versailles'
proud
bowers
outshine
the
day
.
"
A
nation
stern
and
stubborn
to
command
,
"
And
now
convuls'd
with
Faction's
fiercest
rage
,
"
Commits
its
scepter
to
thy
gentle
hand
,
"
And
asks
a
bridle
from
thy
tender
age
.
"
Domestic
bliss
,
that
dear
,
that
sovereign
joy
,
"
Far
from
her
hearth
was
seen
to
speed
away
;
"
Strait
dark-brow'd
Factions
entering
in
destroy
"
The
seeds
of
peace
,
and
mark
her
for
their
prey
.
"
No
more
by
moon-shine
to
the
nuptial
bower
"
Her
Francis
comes
,
by
Love's
soft
fetters
led
;
"
Far
other
spouse
now
wakes
her
midnight
hour
,
"
Enrag'd
,
and
reeking
from
the
harlot's
bed
.
"
Ah
!
draw
the
veil
,
"
shrill
trembles
thro'
the
air
:
The
veil
was
drawn
,
but
darker
scenes
arose
,
Another
nuptial
couch
the
Fates
prepare
,
The
baleful
teeming
source
of
deeper
woes
.
The
bridal
torch
her
Evil
Angel
wav'd
,
Far
from
the
couch
offended
Prudence
fled
;
Of
deepest
crimes
deceitful
Faction
rav'd
,
And
rous'd
her
trembling
from
the
fatal
bed
.
The
hinds
are
seen
in
arms
,
and
glittering
spears
Instead
of
crooks
the
Grampian
shepherds
wield
;
Fanatic
rage
the
plowman's
visage
wears
,
And
red
with
slaughter
lies
the
harvest-field
.
From
Borthwick
field
,
deserted
and
forlorn
,
The
beauteous
Queen
all
tears
is
seen
to
fly
;
Now
thro'
the
streets
a
weeping
captive
borne
,
Her
woes
the
triumph
of
the
vulgar
eye
.
Again
the
vision
shifts
the
fatal
scene
;
Again
forlorn
from
rebel
arms
she
flies
,
And
unsuspecting
on
a
sister
Queen
The
lovely
injur'd
fugitive
relies
.
When
Wisdom
baffled
owns
th'
attempt
in
vain
,
Heaven
oft
delights
to
set
the
virtuous
free
:
Some
friend
appears
,
and
breaks
Affliction's
chain
,
But
ah
,
no
generous
friend
appears
for
thee
!
A
prison's
ghastly
walls
and
grated
cells
Deform'd
the
airy
scenery
as
it
past
;
The
haunt
where
listless
Melancholy
dwells
,
Where
every
genial
feeling
shrinks
aghast
.
No
female
eye
her
sickly
bed
to
tend
A
fact
.
!
"
Ah
cease
to
tell
it
in
the
female
ear
!
A
woman's
stern
command
!
a
proffer'd
friend
!
"
Oh
generous
passion
,
peace
,
forbear
,
forbear
!
"
And
could
,
oh
Tudor
,
could
thy
breast
retain
"
No
softening
thought
of
what
thy
woes
had
been
,
"
When
thou
,
the
heir
of
England's
crown
,
in
vain
"
Didst
sue
the
mercy
of
a
tyrant
Queen
?
"
And
could
no
pang
from
tender
memory
wake
,
"
And
feel
those
woes
that
once
had
been
thine
own
;
"
No
pleading
tear
to
drop
for
Mary's
sake
,
"
For
Mary's
sake
,
the
heir
of
England's
throne
?
"
Alas
!
no
pleading
pang
thy
memory
knew
,
"
Dry'd
were
the
tears
which
for
thyself
had
flow'd
;
"
Dark
politics
alone
engag'd
thy
view
;
"
With
female
jealousy
thy
bosom
glow'd
.
"
And
say
,
did
Wisdom
own
thy
stern
command
?
"
Did
Honour
wave
his
banner
o'er
the
deed
?
"
No
;
—
Mary's
fate
thy
name
shall
ever
brand
,
"
And
ever
o'er
her
woes
shall
Pity
bleed
.
"
The
babe
that
prattled
on
his
nurse's
knee
,
"
When
first
thy
woeful
captive
hours
began
,
"
Ere
heaven
,
oh
hapless
Mary
,
set
thee
free
,
"
That
babe
to
battle
march'd
in
arms
a
man
.
"
An
awful
pause
ensues
—
With
speaking
eyes
,
And
hands
half
rais'd
,
the
guardian
Wood
Nymphs
wait
,
While
slow
and
sad
the
airy
scenes
arise
,
Stain'd
with
the
last
deep
woes
of
Mary's
fate
.
With
dreary
black
hung
round
the
hall
appears
,
The
thirsty
saw-dust
strews
the
marble
floor
,
Blue
gleams
the
ax
,
the
block
its
shoulders
rears
,
And
pikes
and
halberts
guard
the
iron
door
.
The
clouded
moon
her
dreary
glimpses
shed
,
And
Mary's
maids
,
a
mournful
train
,
pass
by
;
Languid
they
walk
,
and
listless
hang
the
head
,
And
silent
tears
pace
down
from
every
eye
.
Serene
and
nobly
mild
appears
the
Queen
,
She
smiles
on
heaven
,
and
bows
the
injur'd
head
:
The
ax
is
lifted
—
from
the
deathful
scene
The
Guardians
turn'd
,
and
all
the
picture
fled
:
It
fled
:
the
Wood
Nymphs
o'er
the
distant
lawn
,
As
rapt
in
vision
,
dart
their
earnest
eyes
;
So
when
the
huntsman
hears
the
rustling
sawn
,
He
stands
impatient
of
the
starting
prize
.
The
sovereign
Dame
her
awful
eye-balls
roll'd
,
As
Cuma's
maid
when
by
the
God
inspir'd
;
"
The
depths
of
ages
to
my
sight
unfold
,
"
She
cries
,
"
and
Mary's
meed
my
breast
has
fir'd
.
"
On
Tudor's
throne
her
Sons
shall
ever
reign
,
"
Age
after
age
shall
see
their
flag
unfurl'd
,
"
With
sovereign
pride
,
where-ever
roars
the
main
,
"
Stream
to
the
wind
,
and
awe
the
trembling
world
.
"
Nor
in
their
Britain
shall
they
reign
alone
,
"
Age
after
age
through
lengthening
time
shall
see
"
Her
branching
race
on
Europe's
every
throne
,
"
And
Goths
and
Vandals
bend
to
them
the
knee
.
"
But
Tudor
as
a
fruitless
gourd
shall
die
;
"
I
see
her
death-scene
—
On
the
lowly
flore
"
Dreary
she
sits
,
cold
Grief
has
glass'd
her
eye
,
"
And
Anguish
gnaws
her
till
she
breathes
no
more
.
But
hark
—
loud
howling
thro'
the
midnight
gloom
,
Faction
is
rous'd
,
and
sends
her
baleful
yell
!
Oh
save
,
ye
generous
few
,
your
Mary's
tomb
,
Oh
save
her
ashes
from
the
blasting
spell
:
"
And
see
where
Time
with
brighten'd
face
serene
,
"
Points
to
yon
far
,
but
gloricus
opening
sky
;
"
See
Truth
walk
forth
,
majestic
awful
Queen
,
"
And
Party's
blackening
mists
before
her
fly
.
"
Falshood
unmask'd
withdraws
her
ugly
train
,
"
And
Mary's
virtues
all
illustrious
shine
—
"
Yes
,
thou
hast
friends
,
the
godlike
and
humane
"
Of
latest
ages
,
injur'd
Queen
,
are
thine
.
"
The
milky
splendors
of
the
dawning
ray
Now
thro'
the
grove
a
trembling
radiance
shed
,
With
sprightly
note
the
wood-lark
hail'd
the
day
,
And
with
the
moonshine
all
the
vision
fled
The
Author
of
this
little
Poem
to
the
memory
of
an
unhappy
Princess
is
unwilling
to
enter
into
the
controversy
respecting
her
guilt
or
her
inno
cence
.
Suffice
it
only
to
observe
,
that
the
following
facts
may
be
proved
to
demonstration
:
The
Letters
,
which
have
been
always
esteemed
as
the
principal
proof
of
Queen
Mary's
guilt
,
are
forged
:
Buchanan
,
on
whose
authority
Thuanus
and
other
historians
have
condemned
her
,
has
fal
sified
several
circumstances
of
her
history
,
and
has
cited
against
her
public
records
which
never
existed
:
And
,
to
add
no
more
;
The
treatment
she
received
from
her
illustrious
Cousin
was
dictated
by
a
policy
truly
Machia
velian
,
which
trampled
on
the
obligations
of
Honour
,
of
Humanity
,
and
Morality
.
From
whence
it
may
be
inferred
,
That
,
to
express
the
indignation
at
the
cruel
treatment
of
Mary
which
History
must
ever
inspire
,
and
to
drop
a
tear
on
her
sufferings
,
is
not
unworthy
of
a
writer
who
would
appear
in
the
cause
of
Virtue
.
.