You come in token of its wondrous power.

         Allow me of myself to speak.

                        Say on.

         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!

         O spare me, sir! No further. Spread no more

         Life's verdant carpet out before my eyes,

         Remember I am wretched, and a prisoner.

         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!

         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?

         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.

         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!

         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