Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/The Captive Queen

The Captive Queen.

Behind the Ochils' verdant range Had sunk the orb of day,And from the east the full-orbed moon Held on her silent way:And lowly cot, and lordly pile,Were lit up with her radiant smile.

Loch Leven, at that midnight hour, Lay calm beneath her beams;While o'er the plain was faintly heard The music of the streams:The moon's pale orb and Mars' red crestWere mirrored in her tranquil breast.

As chieftain from his place of power Commands the vassal crowd,So o'er Loch Leven's smooth expanse, There frowned the fortress proud,Where Mary pined a captive lone,With peace and hope and honour gone.

From out its halls no festive lights Gleamed o'er the waters clear;No sounds of mirth and revelry Fell on the listening ear;No royal standard, broad and fair,Waved in the silent midnight air.

The crown which graced her infant head No longer sparkled there;But on her brow were deeply carved The lines of anxious care.Who would not feel for all her fears?Or mark unmoved the monarch's tears?

The fairest of the fair, who late In festive circles shone,Now deep in dreary dungeon lay Unpitied and alone,With none to prove affection's power,Or cheer her in the lonely hour.