Poems (Baldwyn)/Mary

by Augusta Baldwyn

For works with similar titles, see Mary.

MARY.

She was a gentle maiden, unadorn'd;
 No earthly jewels shone upon her breast;
For, all, that gentle one untimely mourn'd,
 No treasur'd love her sad existence blest.

Yet hope e'er whisper'd to her lonely heart,
 That human love would rise and bless her still
Virtue had bade her from her lover part;
 And she had crush'd affection by her will

Yet, oh, could e'er she love if she must sever
 The future from her early memories?
The love that blest her then, must live forever;
 That it may live, she fondly, truly prays.

He wedded, it is true, another bride;
 He lov'd her, yet he turn'd at honor's call;
He went in anguish from fair Mary's side,
 To wed the Lady of Fitz Allan's Hall.

Yet now his Mary seeks that distant home;
 His noble form is buried in the tomb.
Why does she quickly o'er the dark cliffs roam;
 What hope restores her pale cheek's early bloom

Dark poverty has enter'd that proud hall;
 The wife is weeping o'er her wretched fate;
She heeds not her sweet infant's plaintive call:
 But Mary hastens through those halls of state.

She kneels beside the lovely little one;
 Then on her tender bosom, with deep joy,
She bears to the proud mother her fair son,
 And asks if she may tend the noble boy.

With weeping eyes, the babe the mother gives.
 And asks what stranger seeks her lone abode:
No other being among all that lives
 For many days the silent hall had trod?

'I am a maid,' the blushing girl repli'd,
 'Whose home was in seclusion's humble shade,
But wealth last year came when mine uncle died,
 And with the same what you have ow'd is paid.

'This house is yours,—but let me rear this boy,
 The image of the dead whom we have lov'd;
He to our hearts will give delight and joy';
 Her true devotion the great lady mov'd.

'Oh, Mary, thou art worthy of all love!
 I, by my folly, lost my once dear home.
He whom we lov'd will witness all above:
 Here dwell, and rear our boy;—sweet Mary, come!'