(Written in her fifteenth year.)

Touch not the heart, for Sorrow's voice
Will mingle in the chorus wild;
When Scotland weeps, canst thou rejoice?
No: rather mourn her murdered child.

Sing how on Carberry's mount of blood,
'Mid foes exulting in her doom,
The captive Mary fearless stood,
A helpless victim for the tomb.

Justice and Mercy, 'frighted, fled,
And shrouded was Hope's beacon blaze,
When, like a lamb to slaughter led,
Poor Mary met her murderers' gaze.

Calm was her eye as yon dark lake,
And changed her once angelic form;
No sigh was heard the pause to break,
That awful pause before the storm.

O draw the veil, 't were shame to gaze
Upon the bloody tragedy;
But lo! a brilliant halo plays
Around the hill of Carberry.

'T is done — and Mary's soul has flown
Beyond this scene of blood and death;
'T is done — the lovely saint has gone
To claim in heaven a thornless wreath.

But as Elijah, when his car
Wheeled on towards heaven its path of light,
Dropped on his friend, he left afar,
His mantle, like a meteor bright;

So Mary, when her spirit flew
Far from this world, so sad, so weary,
A crown of fame immortal threw
Around the brow of Carberry.