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The songs she loved in early years—the songs
Navarre, a country
east of Biscay in gallant Chatelar;
Chatelar, Pierre de
Chastelard 70 They won her thoughts from bigot zeal and French nobleman fierce domestic broils :
who followed Mary
to Scotland. But hark! the tramp of armèd men! the came deeply in love Douglas * battle-cry!
with her, and acted They come !—they come !—and lo! the scowl he was beheaded on
so indiscreetly that of Ruthven's * hollow eye!
a charge of treason And swords are drawn, and daggers gleam, and 0.1562;
Douglas, James Dougtears and words are vain
las, Earl of Morton, The ruffian steel is in his heart—the faithful was a reading accomRizzio's slain !
plice in the murder
of Rizzio. 75 Then Mary Stuart dashed aside the tears that he became Regent,
and was beheaded in trickling fell :
1581, as being found “Now for my father's arm !” she said ; “my accessory to the mur.
! woman's heart farewell !”
der of Darnley. Ruthven (Riven), a Scotch lord, who,
with Lord Lindsay, The scene was changed. It was a lake with
conveyed Mary to one small lonely isle ;
Lochleven Castle in And there, within the prison-walls of its baro- 1567.
nial pile, Stern men stood menacing * their queen, till Menacing, threatenshe should stoop to sign.
ing. 80 The traitorous scroll* that snatched the crown Traitorous scroll, the from her ancestral line.
nobles required Mary.
on pain of death, to “My lords !—my lords !” the captive said, sign a document' rewere I but once more free,
signing the crown in With ten good knights on yonder shore to aid
my cause and me,
breeze that blows,
Remorseless, pitiless. 85 A red spot burned upon her cheek-streamed
her rich tresses down,
A royal host, Mary
Lochleven banner bore,
round her 6000 men, And the faithful of the land stood round their She was totally de
feated at Langside, smiling Queen once more.
favour of her son,
She stayed her steed upon a hill-she saw
them marching byShe heard their shouts—she read success in 90
every flashing eye. Tumult, uproar, great The tumult * of the strife begins-it roars- -it
dies away ;
beth. She was beheaded at Fotherin
And Mary's troops and banners now, and
courtiers—where are they?
less and undone ;-
guilt has won ! Away. With a few Away !* away! thy gallant steed must act no 95 followers Mary fled
laggard's * part; Dundrennan Abbey, Yet vain his speed—for thou dost bear the sixty miles off, where
arrow in thy heart ! she spent her last night in Scotland. Laggard, one The scene was changed. Beside the block * a loiters.
sullen headsman stood, Beside the block, Mary was kept prisoner for And gleamed the broad axe in his hand, that eighteen years
soon must drip with blood. England by Eliza
With slow and steady step there came a Lady
through the hall, gay Castle, Northamp. And breathless silence chained the lips and 100 tonshire,7th February
touched the hearts of all. 1587.
I knew that queenly form again, though Blighted, withered. blighted * was its bloom ;
I saw that grief had decked it out-an offering
for the tomb !
once so brightly shone ;
of living gold !
I knew that bounding grace of step—that Symmetry, regulasymmetry * of mould !
[vent isle, rity, beautiful
I see her far pearance,
in that calm con
Even now I see her bursting forth upon the Firmament, the heavens.
[born! triple throne. A new star in the firmament,* to light and glory 110 her Queen of Scotland Alas ! the change !—she placed her foot upon and England, and on a triple throne, * his death she became And on the scaffold now she stands-beside Queen of France as
The little dog that licks her hand, the last of.
all the crowd
and round her footsteps bowed !-
soul is passed away!
piece of clay!
* the warm blood that trickling runs un- Laps, drinks or licks
up with the tongue. The blood of beauty, wealth, and power—the
heart-blood of a Queen,-
earth hath seen,
of a throne !
THE DYING CHRISTIAN TO HIS SOUL.—Pope.
Vital, that which
pleasure. And let me languish into life !
Strife, struggling for
takes up one's entire atten. tion,
THE SONG OF THE SHIRT.*-T. Hoodo
for a woman.
THOMAS Hoon (1798-1845) was born in London. He was a great humourist and poet. Apprenticed to an engraver in his youth, he soon left business for literature, and delighted the world for many years with his wonderful humour and wit. He was buried at Kensal Green, with the epitaph chosen by himself, “ He sang the Song of the Shirt.”-Other works : Whims and Oddities, The Bridge of Sighs, The Dream of Eugene Aram, &c.
With fingers weary and worn,
With eyelids heavy and red,
Plying * her needle and thread-
5 In poverty, hunger, and dirt, Dolorous pitch, sor- And still with a voice of dolorous pitch * rowful tone.
She sang the “Song of the Shirt !”
" Work ! work! work!
It's oh to be a slave Turk, an inhabitant Along with the barbarous Turk,* of Turkey, where the Where woman has never a soul to save, 15 badly
If this is Christian work ! treated.
Till the eyes are heavy and dim ! Gusset, an angular
20 piece of cloth insert- Seam, and gusset,* and band, ed in a garment to Band, and gusset, and seam, strengthen some part
Till over the buttons I fall asleep, And sew, &c. Her
them on in a dream ! mind is so much engaged with her busi
“O Men, with Sisters dear! ness, that even in her sleep she fancies she
O Men, with Mothers and Wives ! is still at work.
It is not linen you're wearing out,
30 Shroud, a winding
Sewing at once, with a double thread, sheet for dead bodies.
A Shroud as well as a Shirt.
*The Song of the Shirt. This beautiful poem appeared first in the Christmas number of Punch for 1843; it ran like wildfire, and caused a great sensation throughout the country. It served to draw attention to the needlewomen, and it made Hood famous.
Phantom, ghost, apparition.
Never flags, never stops.
Blank, bare, empty.
Chime to chime, from one hour to another.
“But why do I talk of Death ?
That phantom * of grisly bone,
It seems so like my own-
Because of the fasts I keep;
And flesh and blood so cheap !
My labour never flags;
A crust of bread—and rags.
A table,-a broken chair,-
For sometimes falling there !
Band, and gusset, and seam,
The brooding swallows cling,
And twit * me with the Spring.
"Oh but to breathe the breath
With the sky above my head,
To feel as I used to feel,
And the walk that costs a meal!
A respite * however brief !
But only time for Grief !
Eaves, the parts of
A respite, &c., a rest