THE FOUR MARYS
Anon
Last night there were four Marys,
Tonight there'll be but three,
There was Mary Seaton and Mary Beaton
And Mary Carmichael and me.
Oh, often have I dressed my Queen
And put on her braw silk gown,
But all the thanks I've got tonight
Is to be hanged in Edinburgh Town.
Full often have I dressed my Queen
Put gold upon her hair,
But I have got for my reward
The gallows to be my share.
Oh, little did my mother know
The day she cradled me
The land I was to travel in,
The death I was to dee.
Tonight there'll be but three,
There was Mary Seaton and Mary Beaton
And Mary Carmichael and me.
Oh, often have I dressed my Queen
And put on her braw silk gown,
But all the thanks I've got tonight
Is to be hanged in Edinburgh Town.
Full often have I dressed my Queen
Put gold upon her hair,
But I have got for my reward
The gallows to be my share.
Oh, little did my mother know
The day she cradled me
The land I was to travel in,
The death I was to dee.
Oh, happy, happy is the maid
That's born of beauty free,
Oh, it was my rosy, dimpled cheeks
That's been the devil to me.
They'll tie a kerchief around my eyes
That I may not see to dee,
And they'll never tell my father or mother
But that I'm across the sea.
That's born of beauty free,
Oh, it was my rosy, dimpled cheeks
That's been the devil to me.
They'll tie a kerchief around my eyes
That I may not see to dee,
And they'll never tell my father or mother
But that I'm across the sea.
This information comes from www.marie-stuart.co.uk
"The four Marys were Mary, Queen of Scots' ladies-in-waiting, but these were Mary Seton, Mary Beaton, Mary Fleming and Mary Livingston. There was no Mary Carmichael but this popular song was believed to be relating to Mary, Queen of Scots until it was traced back to the court of the Tsar. The ballad dates between 1719 and 1764 and narrates the story of Mary Hamilton, a Scottish maid of Peter the Great's wife Catherine, who was executed for the murder of her illegitimate child, product of an affair with the Tsar Peter.
The two stories of Mary Hamilton and Mary, Queen of Scots were grafted onto each other."
"The four Marys were Mary, Queen of Scots' ladies-in-waiting, but these were Mary Seton, Mary Beaton, Mary Fleming and Mary Livingston. There was no Mary Carmichael but this popular song was believed to be relating to Mary, Queen of Scots until it was traced back to the court of the Tsar. The ballad dates between 1719 and 1764 and narrates the story of Mary Hamilton, a Scottish maid of Peter the Great's wife Catherine, who was executed for the murder of her illegitimate child, product of an affair with the Tsar Peter.
The two stories of Mary Hamilton and Mary, Queen of Scots were grafted onto each other."
-o0o-
LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP
Emily Bronte 1818-48
Love is like the wild rose-briar,
Friendship like the holly-tree -
The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms
But which will bloom most constantly?
The wild rose-briar is sweet in spring,
Its summer blossoms scent the air;
Yet wait till winter comes again
And who will call the wild-briar fair?
Then scorn the silly rose-wreath now
And deck thee with the holly’s sheen,
That when December blights thy brow
He still may leave thy garland green.
-o0o-
Emily Bronte 1818-48
Love is like the wild rose-briar,
Friendship like the holly-tree -
The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms
But which will bloom most constantly?
The wild rose-briar is sweet in spring,
Its summer blossoms scent the air;
Yet wait till winter comes again
And who will call the wild-briar fair?
Then scorn the silly rose-wreath now
And deck thee with the holly’s sheen,
That when December blights thy brow
He still may leave thy garland green.
-o0o-
LUCY
William Wordsworth 1770-1850
She dwelt among the untrodden ways
Beside the springs of Dove,
A Maid whom there were none to praise
And very few to love:
A violet by a mossy stone
Half hidden from the eye!
Fair as a star, when only one
Is shining in the sky.
She lived unknown, and few could know
When Lucy ceased to be;
But she is in her grave, and oh,
The difference to me!
-o0o-
William Wordsworth 1770-1850
She dwelt among the untrodden ways
Beside the springs of Dove,
A Maid whom there were none to praise
And very few to love:
A violet by a mossy stone
Half hidden from the eye!
Fair as a star, when only one
Is shining in the sky.
She lived unknown, and few could know
When Lucy ceased to be;
But she is in her grave, and oh,
The difference to me!
-o0o-
HOPE
Emily Dickinson 1830-86
Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul
And sings the tune without the words
And never stops at all.
And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.
I've heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.
I've heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.
-o0o-
MORE POEMS NEXT MONDAY
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