by Homer
That spoke of treasonous strife,
And how a band of his noblest lords
Were sworn to take his life.
“And it may be here or it may be there,
In the camp or the court,” she said: 80
“But for my sake come to your people’s arms
And guard your royal head.”
Quoth he, “’Tis the fifteenth day of the siege,
And the castle’s nigh to yield.”
“O face your foes on your throne,” she cried, 85
“And show the power you wield;
And under your Scottish people’s love
You shall sit as under your shield.”
At the fair Queen’s side I stood that day
When he bade them raise the siege, 90
And back to his Court he sped to know
How the lords would meet their Liege.
But when he summoned his Parliament,
The louring brows hung round,
Like clouds that circle the mountain-head 95
Ere the first low thunders sound.
For he had tamed the nobles’ lust
And curbed their power and pride,
And reached out an arm to right the poor
Through Scotland far and wide; 100
And many a lordly wrong-doer
By the headsman’s axe had died.
’Twas then upspoke Sir Robert Græme,
The bold o’ermastering man: —
“O King, in the name of your Three Estates 105
I set you under their ban!
“For, as your lords made oath to you
Of service and fealty,
Even in likewise you pledged your oath
Their faithful sire to be: — 110
“Yet all we here that are nobly sprung
Have mourned dear kith and kin
Since first for the Scottish Barons’ curse
Did your bloody rule begin.”
With that he laid his hands on his King: — 115
“Is this not so, my lords?”
But of all who had sworn to league with him
Not one spake back to his words.
Quoth the King:— “Thou speak’st but for one Estate,
Nor doth it avow thy gage. 120
Let my liege lords hale this traitor hence!”
The Græme fired dark with rage: —
“Who works for lesser men than himself,
He earns but a witless wage!”
But soon from the dungeon where he lay 125
He won by privy plots,
And forth he fled with a price on his head
To the country of the Wild Scots.
And word there came from Sir Robert Græme
To the King at Edinbro’: — 130
“No Liege of mine thou art; but I see
From this day forth alone in thee
God’s creature, my mortal foe.
“Through thee are my wife and children lost,
My heritage and lands; 135
And when my God shall show me a way,
Thyself my mortal foe will I slay
With these my proper hands.”
Against the coming of Christmastide
That year the King bade call 140
I’ the Black Friars’ Charterhouse of Perth
A solemn festival.
And we of his household rode with him
In a close-ranked company;
But not till the sun had sunk from his throne 145
Did we reach the Scottish Sea.
That eve was clenched for a boding storm,
‘Neath a toilsome moon half seen;
The cloud stooped low and the surf rose high;
And where there was a line of the sky, 150
Wild wings loomed dark between.
And on a rock of the black beach-side,
By the veiled moon dimly lit,
There was something seemed to heave with life
As the King drew nigh to it. 155
And was it only the tossing furze
Or brake of the waste sea-wold?
Or was it an eagle bent to the blast?
When near we came, we knew it at last
For a woman tattered and old. 160
But it seemed as though by a fire within
Her writhen limbs were wrung;
And as soon as the King was close to her,
She stood up gaunt and strong.
’Twas then the moon sailed clear of the rack 165
On high in her hollow dome;
And still as aloft with hoary crest
Each clamorous wave rang home,
Like fire in snow the moonlight blazed
Amid the champing foam. 170
And the woman held his eyes with her eyes: —
“O King, thou art come at last;
But thy wraith has haunted the Scottish Sea
To my sight for four years past.
“Four years it is since first I met, 175
‘Twixt the Duchray and the Dhu,
A shape whose feet clung close in a shroud,
And that shape for thine I knew.
“A year again, and on Inchkeith Isle
I saw thee pass in the breeze, 180
With the cerecloth risen above thy feet
And wound about thy knees.
“And yet a year, in the Links of Forth,
As a wanderer without rest,
Thou cam’st with both thine arms i’ the shroud 185
That clung high up thy breast.
“And in this hour I find thee here,
And well mine eyes may note
That the winding-sheet hath passed thy breast
And risen around thy throat. 190
“And when I meet thee again, O King,
That of death hast such sore drouth, —
Except thou turn again on this shore, —
The winding-sheet shall have moved once more
And covered thine eyes and mouth. 195
“O King, whom poor men bless for their King,
Of thy fate be not so fain;
But these my words for God’s message take,
And turn thy steed, O King, for her sake
Who rides beside thy rein!” 200
While the woman spoke, the King’s horse reared
As if it would breast the sea,
And the Queen turned pale as she heard on the gale
The voice die dolorously.
When the woman ceased, the steed was still, 205
But the King gazed on her yet,
And in silence save for the wail of the sea
His eyes and her eyes met.
At last he said:— “God’s ways are His own;
Man is but shadow and dust. 210
Last night I prayed by His altar-stone;
To-night I wend to the feast of His Son;
And in Him I set my trust.
“I have held my people in sacred charge,
And have not feared the sting 215
Of proud men’s hate, — to His will resign’d
Who has but one same death for a hind
And one same death for a King.
“And if God in His wisdom have brought close
The day when I must die, 220
That day by water or fire or air
My feet shall fall in the destined snare
Wherever my road may lie.
“What man can say but the Fiend hath set
Thy sorcery on my path, 225
My heart with the fear of death to fill,
And turn me against God’s very will
To sink in His burning wrath?”
The woman stood as the train rode past,
And moved nor limb nor eye; 230
And when we were shipped, we saw her there
Still standing against the sky.
As the ship made way, the moon once more
Sank slow in her rising pall;
And I
thought of the shrouded wraith of the King, 235
And I said, “The Heavens know all.”
And now, ye lasses, must ye hear
How my name is Kate Barlass: —
But a little thing, when all the tale
Is told of the weary mass 240
Of crime and woe which in Scotland’s realm
God’s will let come to pass.
’Twas in the Charterhouse of Perth
That the King and all his Court
Were met, the Christmas Feast being done, 245
For solace and disport.
’Twas a wind-wild eve in February,
And against the casement-pane
The branches smote like summoning hands
And muttered the driving rain. 250
And when the wind swooped over the lift
And made the whole heaven frown,
It seemed a grip was laid on the walls
To tug the housetop down.
And the Queen was there, more stately fair 255
Than a lily in garden set;
And the king was loth to stir from her side;
For as on the day when she was his bride,
Even so he loved her yet.
And the Earl of Athole, the King’s false friend, 260
Sat with him at the board;
And Robert Stuart the chamberlain
Who had sold his sovereign Lord.
Yet the traitor Christopher Chaumber there
Would fain have told him all, 265
And vainly four times that night he strove
To reach the King through the hall.
But the wine is bright at the goblet’s brim
Though the poison lurk beneath;
And the apples still are red on the tree 270
Within whose shade may the adder be
That shall turn thy life to death.
There was a knight of the King’s fast friends
Whom he called the King of Love;
And to such bright cheer and courtesy 275
That name might best behove.
And the King and Queen both loved him well
For his gentle knightliness;
And with him the King, as that eve wore on,
Was playing at the chess. 280
And the King said, (for he thought to jest
And soothe the Queen thereby;) —
“In a book ’tis writ that this same year
A King shall in Scotland die.
“And I have pondered the matter o’er, 285
And this have I found, Sir Hugh, —
There are but two Kings on Scottish ground,
And those Kings are I and you.
“And I have a wife and a newborn heir,
And you are yourself alone; 290
So stand you stark at my side with me
To guard our double throne.
“For here sit I and my wife and child,
As well your heart shall approve,
In full surrender and soothfastness, 295
Beneath your Kingdom of Love.”
And the Knight laughed, and the Queen too smiled;
But I knew her heavy thought,
And I strove to find in the good King’s jest
What cheer might thence be wrought. 300
And I said, “My Liege, for the Queen’s dear love
Now sing the song that of old
You made, when a captive Prince you lay,
And the nightingale sang sweet on the spray,
In Windsor’s castle-hold.” 305
Then he smiled the smile I knew so well
When he thought to please the Queen;
The smile which under all bitter frowns
Of hate that rose between,
For ever dwelt at the poet’s heart 310
Like the bird of love unseen.
And he kissed her hand and took his harp,
And the music sweetly rang;
And when the song burst forth, it seemed
’Twas the nightingale that sang. 315
“Worship, ye lovers, on this May:
Of bliss your kalends are begun:
Sing with us, Away, Winter, away!
Come, Summer, the sweet season and sun!
Awake for shame, — your heaven is won, — 320
And amorously your heads lift all:
Thank Love, that you to his grace doth call!”
But when he bent to the Queen, and sang
The speech whose praise was hers
It seemed his voice was the voice of the Spring 325
And the voice of the bygone years.
“The fairest and the freshest flower
That ever I saw before that hour,
The which o’ the sudden made to start
The blood of my body to my heart. 330
Ah sweet, are ye a worldly creature
Or heavenly thing in form of nature?”
And the song was long, and richly stored
With wonder and beauteous things;
And the harp was tuned to every change 335
Of minstrel ministerings;
But when he spoke of the Queen at the last,
Its strings were his own heart-strings.
“Unworthy but only of her grace,
Upon Love’s rock that’s easy and sure, 340
In guerdon of all my love’s space
She took me her humble creäture.
Thus fell my blissful aventure
In youth of love that from day to day
Flowereth aye new, and further I say. 345
“To reckon all the circumstance
As it happed when lessen gan my sore,
Of my rancor and woful chance,
It were too long, — I have done therefor.
And of this flower I say no more 350
But unto my help her heart hath tended
And even from death her man defended.”
“Aye, even from death,” to myself I said;
For I thought of the day when she
Had borne him the news, at Roxbro’ siege, 355
Of the fell confederacy.
But Death even then took aim as he sang
With an arrow deadly bright;
And the grinning skull lurked grimly aloof,
And the wings were spread far over the roof 360
More dark than the winter night.
Yet truly along the amorous song
Of Love’s high pomp and state,
There were words of Fortune’s trackless doom
And the dreadful face of Fate. 365
And oft have I heard again in dreams
The voice of dire appeal
In which the King then sang of the pit
That is under Fortune’s wheel.
“And under the wheel beheld I there 370
An ugly Pit as deep as hell,
That to behold I quaked for fear:
And this I heard, that who therein fell
Came no more up, tidings to tell:
Whereat, astound of the fearful sight, 375
I wist not what to do for fright.”
And oft has my thought called up again
These words of the changeful song: —
“Wist thou thy pain and thy travàil
To come, well might’st thou weep and wail!” 380
And our wail, O God! is long.
But the song’s end was all of his love;
And well his heart was grac’d
With her smiling lips and her tear-bright eyes
As his arm went round her waist. 385
And on the swell of her long fair throat
Close clung the necklet-chain
As he bent her pearl-tir’d head aside,
And in the warmth of his love and pride
He kissed her lips full fain. 390
And her true face was a rosy red,
The very red of the rose
That, couched on the happy garden-bed,
&nb
sp; In the summer sunlight glows.
And all the wondrous things of love 395
That sang so sweet through the song
Were in the look that met in their eyes,
And the look was deep and long.
’Twas then a knock came at the outer gate,
And the usher sought the King. 400
“The woman you met by the Scottish Sea,
My Liege, would tell you a thing;
And she says that her present need for speech
Will bear no gainsaying.”
And the King said:— “The hour is late; 405
To-morrow will serve, I ween.”
Then he charged the usher strictly, and said:
“No word of this to the Queen.”
But the usher came again to the King,
“Shall I call her back?” quoth he: 410
“For as she went on her way, she cried,
‘Woe! Woe! then the thing must be!’”
And the King paused, but he did not speak.
Then he called for the Voidee-cup;
And as we heard the twelfth hour strike, 415
There by true lips and false lips alike
Was the draught of trust drained up.
So with reverence meet to King and Queen,
To bed went all from the board;
And the last to leave of the courtly train 420
Was Robert Stuart the chamberlain
Who had sold his sovereign lord.
And all the locks of the chamber-door
Had the traitor riven and brast;
And that Fate might win sure way from afar, 425
He had drawn out every bolt and bar
That made the entrance fast.
And now at midnight the stole his way
To the moat of the outer wall,
And laid strong hurdles closely across 430
Where the traitors’ tread should fall.
