LAMENT

OF

MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS,

ON THE

APPROACH OF SPRING.

Now nature hangs her mantle

On every blooming tree,

green

And spreads her sheets o' daisies white

Out o'er the grassy lea:

Now Phoebus chears the crystal streams,

And glads the azure skies;

But nought can glad the weary wight

That fast in durance lies.

Now lav'rocks wake the merry morn, Aloft on dewy wing;

The merle, in his noontide bow'r,

Makes woodland echoes ring;

The mavis mild, wi' many a note,
Sings drowsy day to rest :
In love and freedom they rejoice,
Wi' care nor thrall opprest.

Now blooms the lily by the bank,
The primrose down the brae;
The hawthorn's budding in the glen,
And milk-white is the slae:
The meanest hind in fair Scotland

May rove their sweets amang;
But I the Queen of a' Scotland,
Maun lie in prison strang.

I was the Queen o' bonnie France,
Where happy I hae been;

Fu' lightly rase I in the morn,
As blythe lay down at e'en :

And I'm the sov'reign of Scotland,

And monie a traitor there;

Yet here I lie in foreign bands,
And never-ending care.

But as for thee, thou false woman,
My sister and my fae,

Grim vengeance yet shall whet a sword

That thro' thy soul shall gae:

The weeping blood in woman's breast

Was never known to thee;

Nor th' balm that draps on wounds of woe

Frae woman's pitying e'e.

My son my son! !

may

kinder stars

Upon thy fortune shine:

And may those pleasures gild thy reign,
That ne'er wad blink on mine!

God keep thee frae thy mother's faes,

Or turn their hearts to thee:

And where thou meet'st thy mother's friend, Remember him for me!

O! soon, to me, may summer suns

Nae mair light up the morn!
Nae mair, to me, the autumn winds

Wave o'er the yellow corn!