Mary, Queen of Scots.

Mary, Queen of Scots,
350.1

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, though feeble now, that thrilled with every tone.
I knew the ringlets almost gray, once threads of living gold:
I knew that sounding grace of step, that symmetry of motd.
Even now I see her far away, In that caim convent aisle.
I hear her chant her vesper hymn. I mark her holy smile.
Even now I see her bursting forth upon her bridal nmorn,
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 theblock alone:
The little dog that licks her hand, the last of all the crowd
Who sunned themselves beneath her glance and round her footsteps bowed.

Her neck is bared, the blow is struck, the soul has passed away.
The ght, the beautiful, is now a bleeding plece of clay.
The dog is moaning piteously, and as it gurgles o’er
Laps the warm blood that trickling runs unheeded to the floor.
The blood of beauty, wealth, and power, the life- blood of a Queen
The noblest of the Stuart race-the faireat earth has seen.
Lapped by a dog! Go think of it in silence and alone.
Then weigh against a grain of sand the glory of a throne!