The Royal Wedding

On an April day,fifteen-year-old MaryQueen of Scots Marries her childhood playmate, Francis, aged fourteen It's Paris. It's Notre Dame Cathedral Bells peal out, the trees are bright with blossom The groom is the son ofHenri II of France His mother, Catherine de' Medici, stands aloof The boy is timid, sickly, undersized He stammers, but is exquisitely dressed His bride is tall, her auburn hair hangs shining Her hazel eyes are bright as Beltane dew She is vivacious, confident and witty All of Paris is here to celebrate The road's been swept. There's flowers and fluttering banners The fleur de lys of France, and marigolds. In the city, theatres show plays Food and drink's on sale, for thronging crowds The square in front of Notre Dame is packed. Leading the procession, the Swiss Guards Musicians fill the air, it's sweet with song Princes, bishops, cardinals walk stately Crucifixes, holy relics pass And then, the bridal party raises cries Mary is ‘dressed in clothing as white as lilies', Two maids carry her train of blue-grey velvet Round her neck is a necklace flashing with gems On her head, a gold crown set with pearls, In Notre Dame, a podium was draped with silk Embroidered with glorious fleur de lys Before Archbishop of Rouen she made her vows Cheers rose when the ring was placed upon her finger Her uncle, the Duc de Guise mounted the stage Tossed gold and silver coins, into the crowd, And then, the wedding mass. Light from the great windows, spilling colour Forfifteen days France celebrated, Banquets, masks, parades-a tournament Paris, city of love, opened its heart to Mary like a rose