OF QUEEN MARY

I sigh and lament me in vain , Thèse walls can but écho my moan :

Alas! it increases my pain , When I tbink of the days that are gone. Thro' the grate of my prison I see The birds as they wanton in air : My heart liow it pants to be free , My looks they are wild vrith despair.

Above tho' oppressed by my fate , I burn with contempt for my foes :

Tho' fortune bas alter*d my state , She ne* er can subdue me to those.

False woman , in âges to corne Thy malice detested shall be; And when we are cold in the tomb , Some heart still will sorrow for me

Te , roo& where cold damps and dismay With silence and solitude dwell , Bow comfortless passes the day!

How sad toUs the evening bell I The ôwls from the battlements cry, Hollow winds seem to murmur around :

0 Mary, prépare thee to die.

My blood it nins cold at the sound.