That seemed to suit the stormy state of men’s uncertain minds.
The touch of care had blanched her cheek,—her smile was sadder now,
The weight of royalty had pressed too heavy on her brow;
And traitors to her councils[195] came, and rebels to the field;[196]
The Stuart Scepter well she swayed, but the Sword she could not wield.
She thought of all her blighted hopes—the dreams of youth’s brief day,
And summoned Rizzio[197] with his lute, and bade the minstrel play
The songs she loved in early years—the songs of gay Nevarre,
The songs, perchance, that erst were sung by gallant Chatelar;
They half beguiled her of her cares, they soothed[198] her into smiles,