Brave womanly heart that, beholding the shore,
Beholds her own grave unaware,—­
Though the days to come their shame should unveil
Yet onward she still would dare! 
Though the meadows smile with statesmanly guile,
And the cuckoo’s call is a snare!

Turn aside, O Queen, from the cruel land,
From the greedy shore turn away;
From shame upon shame:—­But most shame for those
On their passionate captive who play
With a subtle net, hope enwoven with threat,
Hung out to tempt her astray!

Poor scape-goat of crimes, where,—­her part what it may,—­
So tortured, so hunted to die,
Foul age of deceit and of hate,—­on her head
Least stains of gore-guiltiness lie;
To the hearts of the just her blood from the dust
Not in vain for mercy will cry.

Poor scape-goat of nations and faiths in their strife
So cruel,—­and thou so fair! 
Poor girl!—­so, best, in her misery named,—­
Discrown’d of two kingdoms, and bare;
Not first nor last on this one was cast
The burden that others should share.

—­When the race is convened at the great assize
And the last long trumpet-call,
If Woman ’gainst Man, in her just appeal,
At the feet of the Judge should fall,
O the cause were secure;—­the sentence sure! 
—­But she will forgive him all!—­

O keen heart-hunger for days that were;
Last look at a vanishing shore! 
In two short words all bitterness summ’d,
That Has been and Nevermore! 
Nor with one caress will Mary bless,
Nor look on the babe she bore!

Blow, bitter wind, with a cry of death,
Blow over the western bay: 
The sunshine is gone from the desolate girl,
And before is the doomster-day,
And the saw-dust red with the heart’s-blood shed
In the shambles of Fotheringay.

Mary of Scotland is one of the five or six figures in our history who rouse an undying personal interest.  Volumes have been and will be written on her:—­yet if we put aside the distorting mists of national and political and theological partisanship, the common laws of human nature will give an easy clue to her conduct and that of her enemies.

Her flight from Scotland, as the turning-point in Mary’s unhappy and pathetic career, has been here chosen for the moment whence to survey it.

On Holyrood stairs; Riccio was murdered on March 9, 1566.  Mary’s exclamation when she heard of his death next day, No more tears; I will think upon a revenge, is the sufficient explanation,—­in a great degree should be the sufficient justification, with those who still hold her an accomplice in the death of Darnley and the marriage with Bothwell,—­(considering the then lawless state of Scotland, the complicity of the leading nobles, the hopelessness of justice)—­of her later conduct whilst Queen.

The friend; In Riccio’s murder the main determinant was his efficiency in aiding Mary towards a Roman Catholic reaction, which might have deprived a large body of powerful nobles of the church lands.  The death of Riccio (Mary’s most faithful friend) prevented this:  the death of Darnley became necessary to secure the position gained.