Ainsworth’s Magazine/Volume 2/Mary Stuart
MARY STUART,
FROM PRISON TO HER FRIENDS IN FRANCE, WHO BEGGED HER TO NAME WHAT THEY SHOULD SEND HER IN HER CAPTIVITY.
Have I yet a friend, of all
Those who honour'd once & loved me?
Can I yet on any call,
Whose kind voice would not reprove me?
Those who honour'd once & loved me?
Can I yet on any call,
Whose kind voice would not reprove me?
Dost thou ask if aught there be
Beauteous France can yield to cheer me?
Wouldst thou find some gift for me,
I might keep for ever near me?
Beauteous France can yield to cheer me?
Wouldst thou find some gift for me,
I might keep for ever near me?
Let me have a gentle dove,
I would feed and tend it duly;
Let me have a dog to love,
Who, at least, would serve me truly:
I would feed and tend it duly;
Let me have a dog to love,
Who, at least, would serve me truly:
And─for I would fain forget
Petty slights, and insults daily,
Fain would cease this vain regret,
Meeting all new sorrows gaily;
Petty slights, and insults daily,
Fain would cease this vain regret,
Meeting all new sorrows gaily;
Send me robes of pearl and gold,
Send me crowns of jewels rare,
Veils with many a broider'd fold,
Bands and knots to deck my hair.
Send me crowns of jewels rare,
Veils with many a broider'd fold,
Bands and knots to deck my hair.
Send no flowers, for they will fade
In this air of murky gloom;
Where the sun makes deeper shade,
Like the lamp that lights a tomb.
In this air of murky gloom;
Where the sun makes deeper shade,
Like the lamp that lights a tomb.
Think not rays are gleaming here
Bright, as once I saw them shine,
Gentle Loire!─so vainly dear,
On that crystal tide of thine!
Bright, as once I saw them shine,
Gentle Loire!─so vainly dear,
On that crystal tide of thine!
When thy wave, so clear and bright,
Bore me on, a happy bride,
All my future shrined in light,
He, the loved one, at my side!
Bore me on, a happy bride,
All my future shrined in light,
He, the loved one, at my side!
Then, majestic Nantes, thy towers,
Bade each rock my welcome pay,─
Then, soft Tours, thy banks of flowers,
Shed their perfume on my way.
Bade each rock my welcome pay,─
Then, soft Tours, thy banks of flowers,
Shed their perfume on my way.
Amboise heights sent proudly down
Shouting crowds that thronging came;
Regal Blois, of old renown,
Woke her hills to bless my name.
Shouting crowds that thronging came;
Regal Blois, of old renown,
Woke her hills to bless my name.
Where are now those sunny isles!
Where that gay and happy time!
Where those days of joy and smiles!
Where is all─but woe and crime!
Where that gay and happy time!
Where those days of joy and smiles!
Where is all─but woe and crime!
Winds are howling round my tower;
Damps are gliding down each wall;
Ceaseless beats the pelting shower,
Cloud and storm my soul appal!
Damps are gliding down each wall;
Ceaseless beats the pelting shower,
Cloud and storm my soul appal!
Mists are crowding on the hills,
Fearful shapes their forms assume;
Clamour every cavern fills,
Every sound and sight is gloom.
Fearful shapes their forms assume;
Clamour every cavern fills,
Every sound and sight is gloom.
Those I love are scorn'd, malign'd,
Proud and noble, pure and high;
What were they when Fate was kind,─
Scotland! France! oh what was I!
Proud and noble, pure and high;
What were they when Fate was kind,─
Scotland! France! oh what was I!
Menials dare my pomp reprove,
And, by niggard malice led,
Even the canopy remove,
Which should shroud my crownless head.
And, by niggard malice led,
Even the canopy remove,
Which should shroud my crownless head.
All the charms that poets prize,
Grief has wither'd now─not years,─
Ronsard, couldst thou see these eyes,
Thou wouldst drown thy lyre in tears!
Grief has wither'd now─not years,─
Ronsard, couldst thou see these eyes,
Thou wouldst drown thy lyre in tears!
But I wander─let me still
Nurse bright visions to the last;
Let her urn wild Fancy fill,
At the spring of joy long past.
Nurse bright visions to the last;
Let her urn wild Fancy fill,
At the spring of joy long past.
Send me gear of pride and cost,
That may grace a royal brow;
Glory, power, and freedom lost,
I may be a Queen, e'en now.
That may grace a royal brow;
Glory, power, and freedom lost,
I may be a Queen, e'en now.
Yes, far greater than my foes,
Real pomp surrounds my throne!
For these dungeon-walls enclose
Faithful hearts still all my own!
Real pomp surrounds my throne!
For these dungeon-walls enclose
Faithful hearts still all my own!