MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 471 Sat Mary, listening to the rain, and sighing with the winds, now, The weight of royalty had pressed too heavy on her brow,— And traitors to her councils came, and rebels to the field,The Stuart sceptre well she swayed, but the sword she could not 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 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, 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 trait'rous scroll that snatched the crown from her ancestral line. "My lords, my lords, " the captive said, "were I but once more free, o'er my With ten good knights on yonder shore, to aid my cause and me, 472 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,— Away! away! thy gallant steed must act no laggard's part- 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,— UNMARKED HEROES. 473 -Her neck is bared-the blow is struck-the soul is passed away! Laps the warm blood that, trickling, runs unheeded to the floor! The blood of beauty, wealth, and power-the heart-blood of a queen The noblest of the Stuart race—the fairest earth has seen,— Where the tropic wind is breathing, Heeding not the orphan's moan, Unwatched, not unwept, they slumber,- For the forms that ne'er return? Where the blue Garonne is flowing, And in cabin homes of Erin, There are lonely hearts to-night. 474 THE FLIGHT INTO EGYPT. On the waving, western prairie, Could we bend above our loved ones, While the land is filled with mourning, By the cannon's sulphurous breath; Dust and ashes, Glory's wreath. THE FLIGHT INTO EGYPT.-FRANCIS MAHONEY. T HERE'S a story that's told of a Gypsy who dwelt And her robe was embroidered with stars, and her belt And she lived in the days when our Lord was a child, When he fled from his foes-when, to Egypt exiled, THE FLIGHT INTO EGYPT. This Egyptian held converse with magic, methinks, For an obelisk marked her abode, and a sphinx She was pensive and lone, and never was seen In the haunts of the dissolute crowd; 475 But communed with the ghosts of the Pharaohs, I ween, Or with visitors wrapped in a shroud. And there came an old man from the desert one day, And a child on her bosom reclined-the way Led them straight to the Gypsy's abode; And they seemed to have travelled a wearisome path, From a tyrant's pursuit, from an enemy's wrath,— And the Gypsy came forth from her dwelling, and prayed And she offered her couch to that delicate maid, And she fondled the babe with affection's caress, Then her guests from the glare of the noonday she led Where she spread them a banquet of fruits, and a shed With the wine of the palm-tree, with the dates newly culled, And with song in a language mysterious, she lulled When the Gypsy anon in her Ethiop hand Placed the infant's diminutive palm, Oh, 'twas fearful to see how the features she scanned |