"Oh, Lord! oh, my God! what a fearful omen for my voyage is this!" cried Mary Stuart.
Meanwhile the wind had freshened; and the galley began to attain some speed, so that the crew had an opportunity to rest. Mary, seeing that she was rapidly leaving the shore behind her, leaned against the bulwarks with her eyes fixed upon the harbor, her sight dimmed by great tears, and repeated again and again,—
"Adieu, France! adieu, France!"
She remained in that position nearly five hours,—that is to say, until night fell; indeed, she would probably not have thought of leaving the deck even then, had not Brantôme come to inform her that her presence was awaited at supper.
Thereupon, weeping and sobbing more bitterly than before,—
"Now, dear France," she cried, "I lose thee indeed; since Night, jealous of my last happiness, pulls her dark veil before my eyes to deprive me of my pleasure in gazing at thee. So adieu, dear France! I shall never see thee more!"
Then with a sign to Brantôme that she would follow him at once, she drew forth her tablets, seated herself upon a bench, and wrote these familiar lines by the last rays of daylight,—
"Adieu, plaisant pays de France!
O ma patrie
La plus chérie,
Qui a nourri ma jeune enfance!
Adieu, France! adieu, mes beaux jours!
La nef qui disjoint nos amours
N'a eu de moi que la moitié:
Une part te reste, elle est tienne.
Je la fie à ton amitié,
Pour que de l'autre il te souvienne."[11]
At last she went below, and said as she joined her shipmates who were awaiting her,—
"I have done just the opposite of what the Queen of Carthage did; for Dido, when Æneas left her, gazed ceaselessly at the waves, while I find it hard to take my eyes from the land."