160. The Pilgrim Queen

{281} (A Song.)

THERE sat a Lady
              all on the ground,
Rays of the morning
              circled her round,
Save thee, and hail to thee,
              Gracious and Fair,
In the chill twilight
              what wouldst thou there?

"Here I sit desolate,"
              sweetly said she,
"Though I'm a queen,
              and my name is Marie:
Robbers have rifled
              my garden and store,
Foes they have stolen
              my heir from my bower. {282}

"They said they could keep Him
              far better than I,
In a palace all His,
              planted deep and raised high.
'Twas a palace of ice,
              hard and cold as were they,
And when summer came,
              it all melted away.

"Next would they barter Him,
              Him the Supreme,
For the spice of the desert,
              and gold of the stream;
And me they bid wander
              in weeds and alone,
In this green merry land
              which once was my own."

I look'd on that Lady,
              and out from her eyes
Came the deep glowing blue
              of Italy's skies; {283}
And she raised up her head
              and she smiled, as a Queen
On the day of her crowning,
              so bland and serene.

"A moment," she said,
              "and the dead shall revive;
The giants are failing,
              the Saints are alive;
I am coming to rescue
              my home and my reign,
And Peter and Philip
              are close in my train."

The Oratory.
1849.

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Newman Reader — Works of John Henry Newman
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