Supreme in grief, her eye confus'd with woe,
Appears the lady of th' aërial train;
Tall as the fylvan goddess of the bow,
And fair as fhe who wept Adonis flain.

Such was the pomp when Gilead's virgin band,
Wand'ring by Judah's flow'ry mountains, wept ;
And with fair Iphis, by the hallow'd strand

Of Siloe's brook, a mournful fabbath kept.

By the refplendent cross with thistles twin'd, 'Tis Mary's guardian Genius loft in woe:

• Ah! fay, what deepest wrongs have thus combin'd • To heave with restless fighs thy breast of snow!

O ftay, ye Dryads, nor unfinish'd fly

• Your folemn rites; here comes no foot prophane: The Mufes' fon, and hallow'd is his eye,

Implores your ftay, implores to join the strain!

• See, from her cheek the glowing life-blush flies;
Alas, what faultering founds of woe be these!
Ye nymphs, who fondly watch her languid eyes,
O fay, what mufick will her foul appease !'

Refound the folemn dirge,' the nymphs reply,
And let the turtles moan in Mary's Bow'r;
Let Grief indulge her grand fublimity,

And Melancholy wake her melting pow'r :

For Art has triumph'd; Art, that never stood
• On Honour's fide, or gen'rous transport knew,
Has dy'd it's haggard hands in Mary's blood,

And o'er her fame has breath'd it's blighting dew.

• But

But come, ye nymphs; ye woodland fpirits, come; • And with funereal flow'rs your treffes braid: • While in this hallow'd grove we raise the tomb, • And confecrate the fong to Mary's shade.

O fing what fmiles her youthful morning wore! • Her's ev'ry charm, and ev'ry loveliest grace: • When Nature's happieft touch could add no more, • Heaven lent an angel's beauty to her face.

O! whether by the mofs-grown bushy dell,

Where from the oak depends the misletoe, • Where creeping ivy fhades the Druid's cell, • Where from the rock the gurgling waters flow;

Or whether sportive o'er the cowflip beds,

You thro' the fairy dales of Teviot glide;

• Or brush the primrose banks, while Cynthia sheds Her filv'ry light o'er Efk's translucent tide:

Hither, ye gentle guardians of the fair,

By Virtue's tears, by weeping Beauty, come;
Unbind the feftive 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 fong, with folemn harping join'd,

And wailing notes, unfold the tale of woe!'

She spoke; and, waking thro' the breathing wind,
From lyres unfeen the folemn harpings flow.

The fong began: How bright her early morn! • What lafting joys her fmiling fate portends! To wield the awful British fceptres born,

And Gaul's young heir her bridal-bed afcends.

See, round her bed, light-floating on the air, The little Loves their purple wings display; < When fudden, 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 fable hearfe fucceeds,

And struggling factions shake her native throne.

No more a goddefs in the fwimming dance,

May'ft thou, O queen, thy lovely form display';
No more thy beauty reign the charm of France,
• Nor in Versailles proud bow'rs outshine the day.

For the cold north the trembling fails are spread:
Ah, what drear horrors gliding through thy breast,

While from thy weeping eyes fair Gallia fled,

The unhappy Mary in her infancy was fent to France, to the care of her mother's family, the Houfe of Guife. The French court was at that time the gayeft and most gallant of Europe. H re the Princess of Scotland was educated, with all the diftinctions due to her high rank; and, as foon as years would allow, fhe was married to the Dauphin, afterwards Francis II. On the death of this monarch, which closed a short reign, the politicks of the House of Guife required the return of the young queen to Scotlard. She left France with tears and the utmost reluctance; and, on her landing in her native kingdom, the different appearance of the country awakened all her regret, and affected her with a melancholy which feemed to forebode her future misfortunes.

A nation

A nation ftern and ftubborn to command,

And now convuls'd with Faction's fierceft rage,
Commits it's fceptre to thy gentle hand,

And asks a bridle from thy tender age."

As weeping thus they fung, the omens rofe,

Her native fhore receives the mournful queen;
November wind o'er the bare landscape blows,
In hazy gloom the fea-wave skirts the scene:

The house of Holy Rood, in fullen ftate,

Bleak in the shade of rude pil'd rocks appears; Cold on the mountain's fide, the type of Fate, It's fhatter'd walls a Romifh chapel rears.

No nodding grove here waves the fhelt'ring bough;
O'er the dank vale, prophetick of her reign,
Beneath the curving mountain's craggy brow,
The dreary echoes to the gales complain :

Beneath the gloomy clouds of rolling smoke,
The high pil'd city rears her Gothick tow'rs';
The ftern-brow'd caftle, from his lofty rock

Looks fcornful down, and fix'd defiance lours *.

Domestick blifs, that dear, that fov'reign joy,
Far from her hearth was feen to speed away;
Straight dark-brow'd factions entering in, destroy
The feeds of peace, and mark her for their prey.

*Thefe circumftances, descriptive of the environs of Holy Rood House, are local. Yet, however dreary the unimproved November view may appear, the connoiffeur in gardening will perceive that plantation, and the other efforts of art, could easily convert the profpect into an agreeable and most romantick fummer landscape.

No

No more by moon-shine to the nuptial bow'r

Her Francis comes, by Love's foft fetters led; Far other spouse now wakes her midnight hour*, Enrag'd, and reeking from the harlot's bed.

Ah, draw the veil !' fhrill trembles thro' the air;
The veil was drawn, but darker scenes arose;
Another nuptial couch the Fates prepare †,
The baleful teeming fource 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 rouz'd her trembling from the fatal bed.

The hinds are feen in arms, and glitt'ring spears,
Instead of crooks, the Grampian shepherds wield;
Fanatick rage the plowman's vifage wears,

And red with flaughter lies the harvest field.

From Borthwick field, deferted and forlorn,
The beauteous queen, all tears, is feen to fly :
Now thro' the streets a weeping captive borne ‡,
Her woes the triumph of the vulgar eye

* Lord Darnly; the handsomest man of his age, but a worthless debauchee of no abilities.

Her marriage with the Earl of Bothwell; an unprincipled politician of great addrefs.

When she was brought prifoner through the streets of Edinburgh, she suffered almost every indignity which an enraged mob could offer. Her person was bedaubed with mire, and her ear infulted with every term of vulgar abuse. Even Buchanan, when he relates these circumftances, feems to drop a tear over them.

Again