Imágenes de páginas
PDF
EPUB

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 by

She heard their shouts she read success in every flashing 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.

O Heaven! to think what she has lost, and see what guilt has won.

Away! away! thy gallant steed must act no laggard's part:

Yet vain his speed, for thou dost bear the arrow in thy heart.

The scene was changed. Besides the block a sullen headsman stood,

And gleamed the broad axe in his hand, that soon must drip with blood,

With slow and steady step there came a lady through the hall,

And breathless silence chained the lips, and touch'd 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 lov'd so well!

I knew that queenly form again, though blighted was its bloom

I saw that grief had decked it out-an offering for the tomb!

I knew the eye, though faint its light, that once so brightly shone

I knew the voice, that feeble now, once thrilled through every tone

I knew the ringlets, almost grey, once threads of living gold

I knew that bounding grace of step-that symmetry of mould!

Even now I see her far away, in that calm convent aisle.

I hear her chaunt her vesper-hymn, I mark her holy smile.

Even now I see her bursting forth, upon her bridal morn,

A new star in the firmament, to light and glory born ! Alas! the change! she placed her foot upon a triple throne,

And on the scaffold now she stands beside the block, alone!

The little dog that licks her hand, the last of all the crowd

Who sunn'd themselves beneath her glance, and round her footsteps bowed.

Her neck is bared-the blow is struck-the soul is pass'd

ss'd away:

The bright, the beautiful-is now a bleeding piece of clay!

The dog is moaning piteously, and as it gurgles o'er, Laps the warm blood that trickling runs unheeded on the floor!

The blood of beauty, wealth, and power-the heartblood of a queen

The noblest of the Stuart race the fairest earth hath seen,

Lapp'd by a dog! go, think of it, in silence and alone;

Then weigh against a grain of sand, the splendours of a throne!

D

D'Assas.

A BALLAD OF FRANCE.

"A moi, Auvergne! ces sont les ennemis!"

Alone through gloomy forest-shades
A soldier went by night;
No moonbeams pierced the dusky glades,
No star shed guiding light.

Yet on his vigil's midnight round,
The youth all cheerly pass'd,
Uncheck'd by aught of boding sound
That mutter'd in the blast.

Where were his thoughts that lonely hour?
In his far home perchance,

His father's hall, his mother's bower,
'Midst the gay vines of France;

Wandering from battles lost and won,
To hear and bless again,
The rolling of the wide Garonne,
Or murmur of the Seine.

Hush! hark! did stealing steps go by ?
Came not faint whispers near?
No! the wild wind hath many a sigh,
Amidst the foliage sere.

Hark, yet again! and from his hand
What grasp hath wrench'd the blade?
Oh! single 'midst a hostile band,
Young soldier! thou'rt betray'd!

"Silence!" in undertones they cry"No whisper-not a breath! The sound that warns thy comrades nigh Shall sentence thee to death."

Still, at the bayonet's point he stood,
And strong to meet the blow;
And shouted, 'midst his rushing blood,
"Arm, arm, Auvergne! the foe!"

The stir, the tramp, the bugle-call-
He heard their tumult grow;
And sent his dying voice through all-
"Auvergne! Auvergne! the foe !"

The Death of Keeldar.

Up rose the sun o'er moor and mead;
Up with the sun rose Percy Rede;
Brave Keeldar, from his couples freed,
Careered along the lea;
The palfrey sprung with sprightly bound,
As if to match the gamesome hound;
His horn the gallant huntsman wound;
They were a jovial three.

Man, horse, or hound, of higher fame,
To wake the wild deer never came,
Since Alnwick's earl pursued the game
On Cheviot's rueful day;
Keeldar was matchless in his speed,
Than Tarras ne'er was stauncher steed,
A peerless archer Percy Rede;

And right dear friends were they.

The chase engrossed their joys and woesTogether with the dawn they rose

Together shared the noon's repose

By fountain or by stream,
And oft when evening skies were red,
The heather was their common bed,

Where each as wildering fancy led
Still hunted in his dream.

Now is the thrilling moment near,
Of sylvan hope and sylvan fear,
Yon thicket holds the harboured deer,

His signs the hunters know:-
With eyes of flame, and quivering ears,
The brake sagacious Keeldar nears;
The restless palfrey paws and rears;

The archer strings his bow.

The game's a-foot!-halloo! halloo !
Hunter and horse, and hound pursue;-
But woe the shaft that erring flew-

That e'er it left the string!
And ill betide the faithless yew!
The stag bounds scatheless o'er the dew,
And gallant Keeldar's life-blood true

Has dewed the grey goose wing.

The noble hound-he dies, he dies,
Death, death, has glazed his fixed eyes,
Stiff on the bloody heath he lies,
Without a groan or quiver,
Now day may break, and bugle sound,
And whoop and hollo' ring around,
And o'er his couch the stag may bound,
But Keeldar sleeps, for ever.

« AnteriorContinuar »