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Lament Of Mary Queen Of Scots
(William Wordsworth)

SMILE of the Moon!---for I so name
That silent greeting from above;
A gentle flash of light that came
From her whom drooping captives love;
Or art thou of still higher birth?
Thou that didst part the clouds of earth,
My torpor to reprove!

Bright boon of pitying Heaven!---alas,
I may not trust thy placid cheer!
Pondering that Time tonight will pass
The threshold of another year;
For years to me are sad and dull;
My very moments are too full
Of hopelessness and fear.

And yet, the soul-awakening gleam,
That struck perchance the farthest cone
Of Scotland's rocky wilds, did seem
To visit me, and me alone;
Me, unapproached by any friend,
Save those who to my sorrow lend
Tears due unto their own.

To night the church-tower bells will ring
Through these wide realms a festire peal;
To the new year a welcoming;
A tuneful offering for the weal
Of happy millions lulled in deep;
While I am forced to watch and weep,
By wounds that may not heal.

Born all too high, by wedlock raised
Still higherÑto be cast thus low!
Would that mine eyes had never gazed
On aught of more ambitious show
Than the sweet flowerets of the fields
---It is my royal state that yields
This bitterness of woe.

Yet how?---for I, if there be truth
In the world's voice, was passing fair;
And beauty, for confiding youth,
Those shocks of passion can prepare
That kill the bloom before its time;
And blanch, without the owner's crime,
The most resplendent hair.

Unblest distinction! showered on me
To bind a lingering life in chains:
All that could quit my grasp, or flee,
Is gone;---but not the subtle stains
Fixed in the spirit; for even here
Can I be proud that jealous fear
Of what I was remains.

A Woman rules my prison's key;
A sister Queen, against the bent
O£ law and holiest sympathy,
Detains me, doubtful of the event;
Great God, who feel'st for my distress,
My thoughts are all that I possess,
O keep them innocent!

Farewell desire of human aid,
Which abject mortals vainly court!
By friends deceived, by foes betrayed,
Of fears the prey, of hopes the sport;
Nought but the world-redeeming Cross
Is able to support my loss,
My burthen to support.

Hark! the death-note of the year
Sounded by the castle-clock!
From her sunk eyes a stagnant tear
Stole forth, unsettled by the shock;
But oft the woods renewed their green,
Ere the tired head of Scotland's Queen
Reposed upon the block!


Poems/ Poetry / Quotations by William Wordsworth
 Birth Of Love, The | Childless Father, The | Composed During a Storm | Desideria | A Narrow Girdle of Rough Stones and Crags, | "She Dwelt Among Untrodden Ways" | She was a phantom of delight | "Surprised by Joy--Impatient as the Wind" | "'Tis Said, That Some Have Died For Love" | "With Ships the Sea was Sprinkled Far and Nigh," | A Night-Piece | A Slumber Did My Spirit Seal | Daffodils | For The Spot Where The Hermitage Stood on St. Herbert's Island, Derwentwater. | Goody Blake and Harry Gill | Idiot Boy, The | Inscriptions Written with a Slate Pencil upon a Stone | It is not to be Thought of | Lament Of Mary Queen Of Scots | Lines Written In Early Spring | Memory | Mutability | My Heart Leaps Up | Nuns Fret Not at Their Convent's Narrow Room | O Nightingale! Thou Surely Art | September, 1819 | Oak and The Broom, The: A Pastoral Poem | Ode Composed On A May Morning | Perfect Woman | Resolution and Independence | Reverie of Poor Susan, The | Rural Architecture | Russian Fugitive, The | Ruth | She Dwelt Among the Untrodden Ways | Solitary Reaper, The | Song at the Feast of Brougham Castle upon the Restoration of Lord Clifford, the Shepherd, to the Estates and Honours of his Ancestors | Song For The Wandering Jew | Sparrow's Nest, The | Surprised by Joy | French Revolution as it appeared to Enthusiasts, The | Power of Armies Is a Visible Thing, The | Prelude, The - (Book 1) | Primrose of the Rock, The | Reaper, The | 'Tis Said, That Some Have Died For Love | There is an Eminence of these our hills | Wishing Gate, The | Two April Mornings, The | Sun Has Long Been Set, The | Seven Sisters, The (OR Solitude of Binnorie, The) | Sonnet, The (ii) | Shepherd Looking Eastward Softly Said, The | To A Butterfly (second poem) | To M.H. | To The Daisy (second poem) | To The Daisy (third poem) | With How Sad Steps, O Moon, Thou Climb'st the Sky | With ships the sea was sprinkled | Written in Early Spring | Written in London. September, 1802 | Written in March | Yarrow Unvisited | Yarrow Visited |


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Many great poems where created by English Poets in Cumbrias Lake District Areas and Villages such as Grasmere, Buttermere, Bowness, Kendal, Windermere, Keswick and Coniston.
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