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 160. The Pilgrim Queen (A Song.)  THERE sat a Lady  all on the ground, Rays of the morning  circled her round, Save thee, and hail to thee,  Gracious and Fair, In the chill twilight  what wouldst thou there?  "Here I sit desolate,"  sweetly said she, "Though I'm a queen,  and my name is Marie: Robbers have rifled  my garden and store, Foes they have stolen  my heir from my bower.  "They said they could keep Him  far better than I, In a palace all His,  planted deep and raised high. 'Twas a palace of ice,  hard and cold as were they, And when summer came,  it all melted away.  "Next would they barter Him,  Him the Supreme, For the spice of the desert,  and gold of the stream; And me they bid wander  in weeds and alone, In this green merry land  which once was my own."  I look'd on that Lady,  and out from her eyes Came the deep glowing blue  of Italy's skies; And she raised up her head  and she smiled, as a Queen On the day of her crowning,  so bland and serene.  "A moment," she said,  "and the dead shall revive; The giants are failing,  the Saints are alive; I am coming to rescue  my home and my reign, And Peter and Philip  are close in my train."  The Oratory .  1849.