Mary Stuart | Page 5

world? And find that friend in you,?The nephew of my gaoler, whom I thought?My most inveterate enemy?
MORTIMER (kneeling).
Oh, pardon,?My gracious liege, for the detested mask,?Which it has cost me pain enough to wear;?Yet through such means alone have I the power?To see you, and to bring you help and rescue.
MARY.?Arise, sir; you astonish me; I cannot?So suddenly emerge from the abyss?Of wretchedness to hope: let me conceive?This happiness, that I may credit it.
MORTIMER.?Our time is brief: each moment I expect?My uncle, whom a hated man attends;?Hear, then, before his terrible commission?Surprises you, how heaven prepares your rescue.
MARY.?You come in token of its wondrous power.
MORTIMER.?Allow me of myself to speak.
MARY.
Say on.
MORTIMER.?I scarce, my liege, had numbered twenty years,?Trained in the path of strictest discipline?And nursed in deadliest hate to papacy,?When led by irresistible desire?For foreign travel, I resolved to leave?My country and its puritanic faith?Far, far behind me: soon with rapid speed?I flew through France, and bent my eager course?On to the plains of far-famed Italy.?'Twas then the time of the great jubilee:?And crowds of palmers filled the public roads;?Each image was adorned with garlands; 'twas?As if all human-kind were wandering forth?In pilgrimage towards the heavenly kingdom.?The tide of the believing multitude?Bore me too onward, with resistless force,?Into the streets of Rome. What was my wonder,?As the magnificence of stately columns?Rushed on my sight! the vast triumphal arches,?The Colosseum's grandeur, with amazement?Struck my admiring senses; the sublime?Creative spirit held my soul a prisoner?In the fair world of wonders it had framed.?I ne'er had felt the power of art till now.?The church that reared me hates the charms of sense;?It tolerates no image, it adores?But the unseen, the incorporeal word.?What were my feelings, then, as I approached?The threshold of the churches, and within,?Heard heavenly music floating in the air:?While from the walls and high-wrought roofs there streamed?Crowds of celestial forms in endless train--?When the Most High, Most Glorious pervaded?My captivated sense in real presence!?And when I saw the great and godlike visions,?The Salutation, the Nativity,?The Holy Mother, and the Trinity's?Descent, the luminous transfiguration?And last the holy pontiff, clad in all?The glory of his office, bless the people!?Oh! what is all the pomp of gold and jewels?With which the kings of earth adorn themselves!?He is alone surrounded by the Godhead;?His mansion is in truth an heavenly kingdom,?For not of earthly moulding are these forms!
MARY.?O spare me, sir! No further. Spread no more?Life's verdant carpet out before my eyes,?Remember I am wretched, and a prisoner.
MORTIMER.?I was a prisoner, too, my queen; but swift?My prison-gates flew open, when at once?My spirit felt its liberty, and hailed?The smiling dawn of life. I learned to burst?Each narrow prejudice of education,?To crown my brow with never-fading wreaths,?And mix my joy with the rejoicing crowd.?Full many noble Scots, who saw my zeal,?Encouraged me, and with the gallant French?They kindly led me to your princely uncle,?The Cardinal of Guise. Oh, what a man!?How firm, how clear, how manly, and how great!?Born to control the human mind at will!?The very model of a royal priest;?A ruler of the church without an equal!
MARY.?You've seen him then,--the much loved, honored man,?Who was the guardian of my tender years!?Oh, speak of him! Does he remember me??Does fortune favor him? And prospers still?His life? And does he still majestic stand,?A very rock and pillar of the church?
MORTIMER.?The holy man descended from his height,?And deigned to teach me the important creed?Of the true church, and dissipate my doubts.?He showed me how the glimmering light of reason?Serves but to lead us to eternal error:?That what the heart is called on to believe?The eye must see: that he who rules the church?Must needs be visible; and that the spirit?Of truth inspired the councils of the fathers.?How vanished then the fond imaginings?And weak conceptions of my childish soul?Before his conquering judgment, and the soft?Persuasion of his tongue! So I returned?Back to the bosom of the holy church,?And at his feet abjured my heresies.
MARY.?Then of those happy thousands you are one,?Whom he, with his celestial eloquence,?Like the immortal preacher of the mount,?Has turned and led to everlasting joy!
MORTIMER.?The duties of his office called him soon?To France, and I was sent by him to Rheims,?Where, by the Jesuits' anxious labor, priests?Are trained to preach our holy faith in England.?There, 'mongst the Scots, I found the noble Morgan,?And your true Lesley, Ross's learned bishop,?Who pass in France their joyless days of exile.?I joined with heartfelt zeal these worthy men,?And fortified my faith. As I one day?Roamed through the bishop's dwelling, I was struck?With a fair female portrait; it was full?Of touching wond'rous charms; with magic might?It moved my inmost soul, and there I stood?Speechless, and overmastered by my feelings.?"Well," cried the bishop, "may you linger thus?In deep emotion near this lovely face!?For the most beautiful of womankind,?Is also matchless in calamity.?She is