‘The theme, an’t please your Majesty?’ said Beatrix, bowing her classic head with the utmost composure, and sweeping a masterly prelude over the strings. The Queen gave another meaning glance at Randolph, and laughed again. ‘What say you to my marriage, my _possible_ marriage, and the consequent release of my four bonny maidens from their celibacy? The subject, methinks, is a noble one; and see, the Maries are listening all attention for your strains.’ Beatrix Gardyn struck a few wandering chords, then with bent brows and kindling eyes fixed on vacancy, broke into a melody to which, with but little hesitation, and now and then a meaning smile, she adapted the following words:-- THE MAIDENS’ VOW. ‘A woman may better her word, I trow, Now lithe and listen, my lords, to me; And I’ll tell ye the tale of the “Maidens’ Vow,” And the roses that bloom’d on the bonnie rose-tree. ‘The Queen of the cluster, beyond compare, Aloft in the pride of her majesty hung, Bright and beautiful, fresh and fair; The bevy of blossoms around her clung. ‘So the winds came wooing from east and west, Wooing and whispering frank and free; But she folded her petals; quoth she, “I am best On a stalk of my own at the top of the tree.” ‘And they folded their petals, the rose-buds too, And closer they clung as the wind swept by, For they’d vow’d a vow, that sisterhood true, Together to fade, and together to die. ‘“Never a wind shall a rose-bud wrest, Never a gallant shall wile us away, To wear in his bonnet, to wear on his breast, Rose and rose-buds answering, Nay.” ‘So staunch were the five to their word of mouth, That they baffled all suitors who throng’d to the bower, Till a breeze that came murmuring out of the south Stole home to the heart of the queenliest flower. ‘She droop’d in her beauty to hear him sigh, And ever the brighter and fairer she grew; What wonder, then, that each rose-bud nigh Should open its leaves to the breezes too? ‘Oh! gather the dew while the freshness is on; Roses and maidens they fade in a day; Ere you’ve tasted its sweetness the morning is gone; Love at your leisure, but wed while you may. ‘Winter is coming, and time shall not spare ye, Beautiful blossoms so fragrant and sheen; Joy to the gallants that win ye and wear ye, Joy to the roses, and joy to their queen.’ Rounds of applause followed the conclusion of the song. The approval with which Mary received it was tantamount to an acknowledgment of its truth; and the courtiers scarce refrained from cheers and such noisy demonstrations of their acquiescence in its purport.