Page:Pleasant Memories of Pleasant Lands.djvu/111

 86 HOLYEOOD. ..

Yon secret stairs, yon closet nook,

The swords that through the arras gleam,

Rude Darnley s ill-dissembled joy,

Lost Rizzio s shrill, despairing scream.

The chapel, decked for marriage rite, The royal bride, with flushing cheek,

Triumphant Bothwell s hateful glance, Alas ! alas ! what words they speak !

Dread gift of Beauty ! who can tell The ills and perils round thee strown,

When warm affections fire the heart,

And Fortune gives the dangerous throne,

And Power s intoxicating cup,

And Flattery s wile the conscience tame, And strong Temptation spreads its snare.

And scowling Hatred wakes to blame ?

Yet, since each trembling shade of guilt None, save the eternal Judge, may know,

O er erring hearts, by misery crushed, Let pity s softening tear-drop flow.

�� �