LAMENT OF MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS

On the Eve of a New Year

Composed 1817.—Published 1820

[This arose out of a flash of moonlight that struck the ground when I was approaching the steps that lead from the garden at Rydal Mount to the front of the house. "From her sunk eyes a stagnant tear stole forth" is taken, with some loss, from a discarded poem, The Convict, in which occurred, when he was discovered lying in the cell, these lines:—

But now he upraises the deep-sunken eye,

The motion unsettles a tear;

The silence of sorrow it seems to supply,

And asks of me—why I am here.—I. F.]

This was first published in "The River Duddon," etc., in 1820, but was omitted from the four-volume edition of the "Poems" of 1820. In 1827 it was placed among the "Poems founded on the Affections."—Ed.

Smile of the Moon!—for so I name

That silent greeting from above;

A gentle flash of light that came

From her whom drooping captives love;

Or art thou of still higher birth?

Thou that didst part the clouds of earth,

My torpor to reprove!

Bright boon of pitying Heaven!—alas,

I may not trust thy placid cheer!

Pondering that Time to-night will pass

The threshold of another year;

For years to me are sad and dull;

My very moments are too full

Of hopelessness and fear.

III

And yet, the soul-awakening gleam,

That struck perchance the farthest cone

Of Scotland's rocky wilds, did seem

To visit me, and me alone;

Me, unapproached by any friend,

Save [290] those who to my sorrows lend

Tears due unto their own.

[291]

To-night the church-tower bells will ring

Through these wide [292] realms a festive peal;

To the new year a welcoming;

A tuneful offering [293] for the weal

Of happy millions lulled in sleep;

While I am forced to watch and weep,[294]

By wounds that may not heal.

Born all too high, by wedlock raised

Still higher—to be cast thus low!

Would that mine eyes had never gazed

On aught of more ambitious show

Than the sweet flowerets of the fields!

—It is my royal state that yields

This bitterness of woe.

Yet how?—for I, if there be truth

In the world's voice, was passing fair;

And beauty, for confiding youth,

Those shocks of passion can prepare

That kill the bloom before its time;

And blanch, without the owner's crime,

The most resplendent hair.[295]

VII

Unblest distinction! showered on me

To bind a lingering life in chains:

All that could quit my grasp, or flee,[296]

Is gone;—but not the subtle stains

Fixed in the spirit; for even here

Can I be proud that jealous fear

Of what I was remains.[297]

VIII

A woman rules my prison's key;

A sister Queen,[298] against the bent

Of law and holiest sympathy,

Detains me, doubtful of the event;

Great God, who feel'st for my distress,[299]

My thoughts are all that I possess,

O keep them innocent!

Farewell desire of [300] human aid,

Which abject mortals vainly [301] court!

By friends deceived, by foes betrayed,

Of fears the prey, of hopes the sport;

Nought but the world-redeeming Cross

Is able to supply my loss,

My burthen to support.

Hark! the death-note of the year

Sounded by the castle-clock!

From her sunk eyes a stagnant tear

Stole forth, unsettled by the shock;

But oft the woods renewed their green,

Ere the tired head of Scotland's Queen

Reposed upon the block!

Compare the sonnet entitled Captivity, Mary Queen of Scots, composed and published in 1819 (p. 191); also the sonnet, composed in 1833, entitled Mary Queen of Scots (Landing at the mouth of the Derwent, Workington).—Ed.

VARIANTS:

[290] 1820.

ms.

But . . .

[291] 1820.

Meek effluence—that, while I trod

With downcast eye in narrow space,

Did'st vivify the wintry sod,

As if an Angel filled the place

With softened light—thou wert a touch

Even to my heart of hearts—and such

Is every gift of grace.

{Oh }

{Yet } wherefore did it leave the sky,

And wherefore did it seem to speak

Of something bordering all too nigh

{On what I seldom dare }

{Of what full oft I deign } to seek,

A happier order for my doom,

A favoured era when the gloom

At length will cleave and break.

[292] 1820.

ms.

. . . wild . . .

[293] 1820.

ms.

. . . opening . . .

[294] 1820.

ms.

. . . forced lone watch to keep,

[295] 1820.

Yet how—for I—if there be truth

In the world's voice was passing fair,

And beauty might have led my youth

To sorrow, such as can impair

The loveliest cheek before its time,

And blanch in any state or clime

The most resplendent hair.

Man's foolish envy is a stream

Where wisdom's eye reflected sees

The fuel of a painful dream,

The incitements of a dire disease.

{A pageantry}

{Ah what } is life but Powers let loose

And revelling in their own abuse.

[296] 1820.

ms.

All that could crumble into dust or flee

[297] 1820.

Unblest distinctions—that were mine

Early to lock in hapless chains

A lingering life that may consign

My memory to opprobrious stains

{Yet doth it make me proud—even here }

{Chained as I am that jealous fear }

{Yet faded, fallen, and crushed—even here }

{I can be proud that jealous fear }

With lurking pride that jealous fear

Of what I was, remains—

[298] 1820.

ms.

A sister Sovereign . . .

[299] 1820.

ms.

. . . pities my distress,

[300] 1827.

ms. and 1820.

Farewell for ever . . .

[301] 1820.

ms.

. . . blindly . . .

1818

Still fewer than those of 1817 are the poems composed in 1818. They comprise The Pilgrim's Dream, The five Inscriptions, supposed to be found in and near a Hermit's Cell, and the stanzas Composed upon an Evening of extraordinary Splendour and Beauty, etc. They were all written at or near Rydal Mount; and their local allusions are all Rydalian.