Mary Stuart | Page 6

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 a prisoner for our
holy faith, And in your native land, alas! she suffers."
[MARY is in great agitation. He pauses.
MARY. Excellent man! All is not lost, indeed, While such a friend
remains in my misfortunes!

MORTIMER. Then he began, with moving eloquence, To paint the
sufferings of your martyrdom; He showed me then your lofty