And now that all was still through the hall,
More clearly we heard the rain
That clamored ever against the glass

And the boughs that beat on the pane.

But the fire was bright in the ingle-nook, 440
And through empty space around
The shadows cast on the arrased wall
'Mid the pictured kings stood sudden and tall
Like specters sprung from the ground.

And the bed was dight in a deep alcove; 445
And as he stood by the fire
The King was still in talk with the Queen
While he doffed his goodly attire.

And the song had brought the image back
Of many a bygone year;
And many a loving word they said
With hand in hand and head laid to head;
And none of us went anear.

450

'Last night at mid-watch, by Aberdour,
When the moon was dead in the skies, 470
O King, in a death-light of thine own
I saw thy shape arise.

'And in full season, as erst I said,

The doom had gained its growth;

And the shroud had risen above thy neck 475 And covered thine eyes and mouth.

'And no moon woke, but the pale dawn broke,

And still thy soul stood there; And I thought its silence cried to my soul As the first rays crowned its hair.

480

'Since then have I journeyed fast and fain In very despite of Fate,

Lest Hope might still be found in God's will: But they drove me from thy gate.

'For every man on God's ground, O King, 485
His death grows up from his birth
In a shadow-plant perpetually;
And thine towers high, a black yew-tree,
O'er the Charterhouse of Perth!'

That room was built far out from the house;

And none but we in the room Might hear the voice that rose beneath, Nor the tread of the coming doom. For now there came a torchlight-glare, And a clang of arms there came; And not a soul in that space but thought Of the foe Sir Robert Græme. Yea, from the country of the Wild Scots, O'er mountain, valley, and glen,

490

495

He had brought with him in murderous league

Three hundred armèd men.

The King knew all in an instant's flash,
And like a King did he stand;
But there was no armor in all the room,
Nor weapon lay to his hand.

And all we women flew to the door

And thought to have made it fast;

500

505

Then loosed her, standing alone, and said, 'Our bliss was our farewell!'

And 'twixt his lips he murmured a prayer,
And he crossed his brow and breast;

And proudly in royal hardihood
Even so with folded arms he stood,
The prize of the bloody quest.

Then on me leaped the Queen like a deer:
'O Catherine, help!' she cried.
And low at his feet we clasped his knees
Together side by side.

'Oh! even a king, for his people's sake,
From treasonous death must hide!'

515

520

Then he cried to the Queen, 'God's will be done!'

For her hands were clasped in prayer. And down he sprang to the inner crypt; And straight we closed the plank he had ripped,

And toiled to smooth it fair.

(Alas! in that vault a gap once was

540

Wherethrough the King might have fled: But three days since close-walled had it been

By his will; for the ball would roll therein When without at the palm he played.) 545 Then the Queen cried, 'Catherine, keep the door,

And I to this will suffice!'

At her word I rose all dazed to my feet,
And my heart was fire and ice.

And louder ever the voices grew,
And the tramp of men in mail;

Until to my brain it seemed to be
As though I tossed on a ship at sea
In the teeth of a crashing gale.

550

Then back I flew to the rest; and hard 555 We strove with sinews knit

To force the table against the door

But we might not compass it.

Then my wild gaze sped far down the hall
To the place of the hearthstone-sill; 560
And the Queen bent ever above the floor,
For the plank was rising still.

And now the rush was heard on the stair,
And 'God, what help?' was our cry.
And was I frenzied or was I bold?
I looked at each empty stanchion-hold,
And no bar but my arm had I!

Like iron felt my arm, as through

The staple I made it pass:

565

Alack! it was flesh and bone no more! 570 'T was Catherine Douglas sprang to the door,

But I fell back Kate Barlass.

With that they all thronged into the hall, Half dim to my failing ken;

And the space that was but a void before 575 Was a crowd of wrathful men.

But then a great wind swept up the skies, 635
And the climbing moon fell back;
And the royal blazon fled from the floor,
And nought remained on its track;
And high in the darkened window-pane

The shield and the crown were black, 640

And what I say next I partly saw

And partly I heard in sooth,
And partly since from the murderers' lips
The torture wrung the truth.

For now again came the armèd tread, 645
And fast through the hall it fell;
But the throng was less: and ere I saw,
By the voice without I could tell
That Robert Stuart had come with them
Who knew that chamber well.

650

And flung him above the first. And he smote and trampled them under him; And a long month thence they bare

All black their throats with the grip of his hands

When the hangman's hand came there. 685

And sore he strove to have had their knives, But the sharp blades gashed his hands. Oh James! so armed, thou hadst battled there Till help had come of thy bands;

And oh! once more thou hadst held our throne 690

And ruled thy Scotish lands!

But while the King o'er his foes still raged With a heart that naught could tame, Another man sprang down to the crypt; And with his sword in his hand hardgripped,

There stood Sir Robert Græme.

695

With that he smote his King through the breast;

And all they three in the pen

Fell on him and stabbed and stabbed him there

Like merciless murderous men.

Yet seemed it now that Sir Robert Græme,

Ere the King's last breath was o'er, Turned sick at heart with the deadly sight And would have done no more.

But a cry came from the troop above:
'If him thou do not slay,

The price of his life that thou dost spare
Thy forfeit life shall pay!'

O God! what more did I hear or see,
Or how should I tell the rest,
But there at length our King lay slain
With sixteen wounds in his breast.

720

725

In his robes of state he lay asleep
With orb and scepter in hand;
And by the crown he wore on his throne
Was his kingly forehead spanned.

And, girls, 't was a sweet sad thing to see 760 How the curling golden hair,

As in the day of the poet's youth,

From the King's crown clustered there.

And if all had come to pass in the brain
That throbbed beneath those curls, 765
Then Scots had said in the days to come
That this their soul was a different home
And a different Scotland, girls!

And the Queen sat by him night and day,
And oft she knelt in prayer,
All wan and pale in the widow's veil
That shrouded her shining hair.

And I had got good help of my hurt:
And only to me some sign

770

730

And still as I told her day by day,
Her pallor changed to sight,
And the frost grew to a furnace-flame,
That burnt her visage white.

And evermore as I brought her word,
She bent to her dead King James,
And in the cold ear with fire-drawn breath,
She spoke the traitors' names.

But when the name of Sir Robert Græme
Was the one she had to give,

I ran to hold her up from the floor;
For the froth was on her lips, and sore
I feared that she could not live.

785

790

755

But her eyes were a soul on fire.

800

IV. LOVESIGHT

WHEN do I see thee most, beloved one?
When in the light the spirits of mine eyes
Before thy face, their altar, solemnize
The worship of that Love through thee made
known?

Or when in the dusk hours (we two alone,) 5
Close-kissed and eloquent of still replies,
Thy twilight-hidden glimmering visage lies,
And my soul only sees thy soul its own?
O love, my love! if I no more should see
Thyself, nor on the earth the shadow of
thee,

10

HAVE you not noted, in some family
Where two were born of a first marriage-bed,
How still they own their gracious bond,
though fed

And nursed on the forgotten breast and knee?

How to their father's children they shall be 5 In act and thought of one goodwill; but each

Shall for the other have, in silence speech,
And in a word complete community?
Even so, when first I saw you, seemed it,
love,

That among souls allied to mine was yet 10
One nearer kindred than life hinted of.

O born with me somewhere that men forget,