C.D. Warner, et al., comp. The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.

Adieux à Marie Stuart

By Algernon Charles Swinburne (1837–1909)

QUEEN, for whose house my fathers fought,

With hopes that rose and fell,

Red star of boyhood’s fiery thought,

Farewell.

They gave their lives, and I, my queen,

Have given you of my life,

Seeing your brave star burn high between

Men’s strife.

The strife that lightened round their spears

Long since fell still: so long

Hardly may hope to last in years

My song.

But still through strife of time and thought

Your light on me too fell;

Queen, in whose name we sang or fought,

Farewell.

There beats no heart on either border

Wherethrough the north blasts blow

But keeps your memory as a warder

His beacon-fire aglow.

Long since it fired with love and wonder

Mine, for whose April age

Blithe midsummer made banquet under

The shade of Hermitage.

Soft sang the burn’s blithe notes, that gather

Strength to ring true;

And air and trees and sun and heather

Remembered you.

Old border ghosts of fight or fairy

Or love or teen,

These they forgot, remembering Mary

The Queen.

Queen once of Scots, and ever of yours

Whose sires brought forth for you

Their lives to strew your way like flowers,

Adieu.

Dead is full many a dead man’s name,

Who died for you this long

Time past: shall this too fare the same,

My song?

But surely, though it die or live,

Your face was worth

All that a man may think to give

On earth.

No darkness cast of years between

Can darken you;

Man’s love will never bid my queen

Adieu.

Love hangs like light about your name

As music round the shell;

No heart can take of you a tame

Farewell.

Yet, when your very face was seen,

Ill gifts were yours for giving;

Love gat strange guerdons of my queen

When living.

Oh, diamond heart unflawed and clear,

The whole world’s crowning jewel!

Was ever heart so deadly dear

So cruel?

Yet none for you of all that bled

Grudged once one drop that fell:

Not one to life reluctant said

Farewell.

Strange love they have given you, love disloyal,

Who mock with praise your name,

To leave a head so rare and royal

Too low for praise or blame.

You could not love nor hate, they tell us;

You had nor sense nor sting:

In God’s name, then, what plague befell us

To fight for such a thing?

“Some faults the gods will give,” to fetter

Man’s highest intent;

But surely you were something better

Than innocent!

No maid that strays with steps unwary

Through snares unseen,

But one to live and die for: Mary,

The Queen.

Forgive them all their praise, who blot

Your fame with praise of you;

Then love may say, and falter not,

Adieu.

Yet some you hardly would forgive

Who did you much less wrong

Once; but resentment should not live

Too long.

They never saw your lip’s bright bow,

Your sword-bright eyes,—

The bluest of heavenly things below

The skies.

Clear eyes that love’s self finds most like

A sword-blade’s blue,

A sword-blade’s ever keen to strike—

Adieu.

Though all things breathe or sound of fight

That yet make up your spell,

To bid you were to bid the light

Farewell.

Farewell the song says only, being

A star whose race is run;

Farewell the soul says never, seeing

The sun.

Yet, well-nigh as with flash of tears,

The song must say but so

That took your praise up twenty years

Ago.

More bright than stars or moons that vary,

Sun kindling heaven and hell,

Here, after all these years, Queen Mary,

Farewell.

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