Queen Mary's Lamentation

I SIGH and lament me in vain, These walls can but echo my moan; Alas! it encreases my pain, When I think on the days that are gone. Through the grate of my prison I see, The birds as they wanton in air; My heart, how it pants to be free, My looks they are wild with dispair!

Above, tho' opprest by my fate, I burn with contempt for my foes; Tho' fortune has alter'd my state, She ne'er can subdue me to those. False woman! in ages to come, Thy malice detested shall be; And when we are cold in the tomb, Some hearts still shall sorrow for me.

Ye roofs where cold damps and dismay, With silence and solitude dwell; How comfortless passes the day! How sad tolls the evening bell! The owls from the battlements cry; Hollow winds seem to murmur around; O Mary! prepare thee to die! My blood it runs cold at the sound!