Of minstrel honours, now no more; Of bards, who sung in days of yore; Of ladies' smiles, of ladies' eyes; Saw Beauty's hand her sceptre bear,— When wanes the circling year away, When scarcely smiles the doubtful day, Fair daughter of Dunedin, say, Hast thou not heard, at midnight deep, Thy slender form on couch of down, Hast thou not felt, to nature true, The tear steal from thine eye so blue? If then thy guiltless bosom strove In blissful dreams of conscious love, And even shrunk from proffer bland On such ecstatic dream when brake 'Scaped from a world of cares away, The dream dispelled, the music gone, Hast thou not, sighing, all alone, Then list, ye maidens, to my lay, Though old the tale, and past the day; Those Wakes, now played by minstrels poor, At midnight's darkest, chillest hour, Those humble Wakes, now scorned by all, Were first begun in courtly hall, When royal MARY, blithe of mood, Kept holiday at Holyrood. Scotland, involved in factious broils, The Spring was past, the Summer gone; Waved her rich banner o'er the land, When rang the shouts, from tower and tree, That Scotland's Queen was on the sea. Swift spread the news o'er down and dale, Swift as the lively autumn gale; Away, away, it echoed still, O'er many a moor and Highland hill, Till rang each glen and verdant plain, Each bard attuned the loyal lay, And for Dunedin hied away; Each harp was strung in woodland bower, In praise of beauty's bonniest flower. The chiefs forsook their ladies fair; The priest his beads and books of prayer; The farmer left his harvest day, The shepherd all his flocks to stray; The forester forsook the wood, And hasted on to Holyrood. After a youth, by woes o'ercast, After a thousand sorrows past, The lovely Mary once again Set foot upon her native plain; And every tongue gave thanks to Heaven, That Mary to their hopes was given. Her comely form and graceful mien, An exile bred in realms afar, Amid commotion, broil, and war. In one short year her hopes all crossed, A parent, husband, kingdom lost! A Queen so courteous, young, and fair, Who would not every foe defy! Who would not stand! who would not die! Light on her airy steed she sprung, Around with golden tassels hung, |