The Tired Soldier/Queen Mary's Lamentation
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For other versions of this work, see Queen Mary's Lamentation (song).
QUEEN MARY's LAMENTATION.
I Sigh and lament me in vain,
These walls can but echo my moan,
Alas! it encreases my pain,
When I think of the days that are gone
Thro' the grate of my prison I see
The birds as they wanton in air,
My heart it now pants to be free,
My looks they are wild with despair.
These walls can but echo my moan,
Alas! it encreases my pain,
When I think of the days that are gone
Thro' the grate of my prison I see
The birds as they wanton in air,
My heart it now pants to be free,
My looks they are wild with despair.
Above, tho' opprest by my fate,
I burn with contempt for my foes,
Tho' fortune has alter'd my state,
She ne'er can subdue me to those.
False woman in ages to come,
Thy malice detested shall be;
And when we are cold in the tomb,
Some heart still with sorrow for me.
I burn with contempt for my foes,
Tho' fortune has alter'd my state,
She ne'er can subdue me to those.
False woman in ages to come,
Thy malice detested shall be;
And when we are cold in the tomb,
Some heart still with sorrow for me.
Ye roofs, where cold damps and dismay
With silence and solitude dwell,
With silence and solitude dwell,
How comfortless passes the day!
How sad tolls the evening bell!
The owls from the battlements cry,
Hollow wind seems to murmur around,
“O Mary prepare thee to die,”
My blood it runs cold at the sound.
How sad tolls the evening bell!
The owls from the battlements cry,
Hollow wind seems to murmur around,
“O Mary prepare thee to die,”
My blood it runs cold at the sound.
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