The scene was changed. Beside the block a sullen headsman stood,

And gleamed the broad axe in his hand that soon must drip with blood.

With slow and steady step there came a lady through the

hall,

And breathless silence chained the lips, and touched the hearts of all;

Rich were the sable robes she wore-her white veil round

her fell

And from her neck there hung the cross- -that cross she loved so well!

I knew that queenly form again, though blighted was its

bloom,

I saw that grief had decked it out-an offering for the

tomb!

I knew the eye, though faint its light, that once so brightly

shone,

I knew the voice, though feeble now, that thrilled with

every tone,

I knew the ringlets, almost grey, once threads of living

gold,

I knew that bounding grace of step-that symmetry of

mould!

Even now I see her far away, in that calm convent

aisle,

I hear her chant her vesper-hymn, I mark her holy

smile,

Even now I see her bursting forth, upon her bridal morn, A new star in the firmament, to light and glory born! Alas! the change! she placed her foot upon a triple throne,

And on the scaffold now she stands-beside the block, alone!

The little dog that licks her hand, the last of all the

crowd

Who sunned themselves beneath her glance, and round her footsteps bowed!

Her neck is bared-the blow is struck-the soul has

passed away;

The bright-the beautiful—is now a bleeding piece of

clay!

The dog is moaning piteously, and as it gurgles o'er, Laps the warm blood that trickling runs unheeded to the

floor!

The blood of beauty, wealth, and power-the heart-blood of a queen,

The noblest of the Stuart race-the fairest earth has

seen,

Lapped by a dog! Go think of it, in silence and alone, Then weigh against a grain of sand the glories of a

throne !

H. G. B.

Edinburgh, 1828.

INVOCATION TO THE ECHO OF A

SEA-SHELL.

BY ALARIC A. WATTS.

Murmurings from within

Were heard, sonorous cadences; whereby
To his belief the monitor expressed
Mysterious union with his native sea.

WORDSWORTH.

I.

VOICE of the deep, illimitable sea!

Discarded offspring of the wind and wave! Who, like a captive struggling to be free,

Thus ever moan'st in thy mysterious cave,—

Art thou a syren, by some sea-god's spell

Prisoned in this smooth shell?

Called up to earth by some enchanter's wand ?— Whose was the charm that broke thy long, cold sleep,

And brought thee, murmuring, from thy parent sand? How wert thou ushered to the realms of day,

Syren, or Spirit, say?

III.

Yet more I would know more! I burn to pierce

The hidden secrets of thy ocean home:

Where are the victims of its surges fierce,

Who dreamt of calms, and wakened 'mid its foam;The souls that perished 'neath the stormy wave, When none were nigh to save?

IV.

Where are the stately ship, and gallant crew,
Whose hapless fate is sealed to all beside?
The warrior bold a fear that never knew,

The love-linked pair whom death could not divide; (For thou hast seen them in their last embrace, Calm, sleeping face to face?)

V.

Fond hearts and true-the beautiful and brave,-
Childhood's bright hair-the veteran's locks of grey;

Foemen and friends, sink down to one wide grave,
And none are spared to tell us where they lay.
Where are the lost and loved so many seek?

Speak, I conjure thee, speak!

VI.

How dost thou answer?—With a low, sweet dirge

Sad as the booming of the sullen main,—

The far-off warnings of the restless surge,

When storms are growing into strength again! Perchance a requiem for the glorious dead,

Youth, beauty, valour fled.

VII.

Whate'er thy source and purpose, I rejoice

To list thy mystic murmurings, soft and clear: To me thou seemest like a still, small voice,

By conscience whispered in my

world-vexed ear,

To lead my soul from grovelling things of earth,

To hopes of loftier birth!

[This little Poem was intended by its author as an imitation

of the manner of Mrs. Hemans].