‘Her glances, like the day-god’s light,
On each and all are thrown;
Like him she shines, impartial, bright,
Unrivall’d, and alone.
‘Alone! alone! an ice-queen’s lot,
Though dazzling on a throne;
Ah! better to love in the lowliest cot
Than pine in a palace—alone!’
As he concluded, the singer approached Her Majesty with the information she had sent him to seek.
Softened by her sorrows, influenced by the time, the scene, the devotion of her follower, feeling now more than ever the value of such kind adherents, what could Mary do but reach him graciously the white hand that was not the least attractive of her peerless charms? And if Chastelâr pressed it to his lips with a fervour that partook more of the lover’s worship than the subject’s loyalty, what less was to be expected from an overwrought imagination, and a susceptible heart, thus brought in contact with the most fascinating woman of the age? And the Queen drew away her hand hurriedly, rather than unkindly, with a consciousness not wholly displeasing, and Mary Seton looked discreetly into the far distance, as though there was something unusually interesting in that dull expanse of sea. And Mary Hamilton, clasping both hands tightly to her heart, leaned her head against the bulwark, and said nothing; but rose, as if intensely relieved, when an increasing bustle on board the galley, and a general movement amongst its inmates, denoted some fresh alarm, and the necessity for increased watchfulness and exertion.