Classic and Contemporary Poetry
BOTHWELL: PART 3, by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: That gaoler hath a savage look Last Line: The felon now for evermore!' Alternate Author Name(s): Bon Gaultier (with Theodore Martin) Subject(s): Bothwell, Scotland; Courts & Courtiers; Death; Prisons & Prisoners; Royal Court Life; Royalty; Kings; Queens; Dead, The; Convicts | ||||||||
I THAT gaoler hath a savage look -- Methinks I spy a change; For three long years, within this room, That man has been my only groom, And yet his voice is strange. He brings me food, he smoothes my bed, Obedient to my sign; But still his moody eye falls down, And will not answer mine. I had the art, in former days, To win, by short familiar phrase, The rudest hearts alive, -- To bring the wildest to my side, And force them in the battle-tide Like thorough fiends to strive. When Warden, I have rode alone, Without a single spear to back, The Marches through, although I knew That spies were hovering on my track; I've passed into the midst of clans So fierce and wild, that undismayed They would have risen, sword in hand, Had the Queen's standard been displayed; But never did I meet with one, Trooper or jackman, groom or knave, But to the ready fearless call A frank and fearless answer gave. II This fellow scowls as if in hate. I've marked upon his brow a scar, More like the hideous galley-brand Than any wound from broil or war. Either he is, in mind and sense, Far duller than a Lothian boor, Or there's a plot against my life, And he's the man to make it sure! I never hear him at the door, When fumbling with his heavy keys, But something warns me to beware, Reminding me that sounds like these Were heard by Rothsay, Scotland's heir, In Falkland's dungeon deep; When, mad with famine and despair, He started from his sleep, To see the butchers usher in That terrible repast, The black bull's head, the awful sign Of death to follow fast! Slave that he is! I've strength enough To brain him at a blow: But Danish laws, they say, are hard; And scarcely might a man in ward Deal with his gaoler so. And yet, if treason dares to come And bare the murderous knife, Not craven-like nor unavenged Shall Bothwell yield his life! III Is this indeed a warning voice That croaks within my ear? Or is it guilt that frames the thought, And fashions it to fear? I'd have it so -- I'll so believe! These terrors are no more Than the wild blasts that conscience drives; And though they shake me sore, I'll hold them empty, vain, and false, Nor so demean my place As tremble at a clown's approach, Or deign to watch his face! IV Come -- I will far away from hence -- I cannot tarry here: Whate'er the penance, I must forth, And quit this dungeon drear! Man lives not for the single point That marks the passing time; He lives in thoughts and memories Of glory or of crime. And I will back -- and bravely back, To that tremendous night When the whole state of Scotland reeled, And Darnley took his flight, Borne on the wings of that red blast, Whose fell volcano-roar Shook the dark city to its base, And bade it sleep no more. That which I did, nor shrunk to do, I may at least recall; If spectres rise from out the grave, I dare to face them all! V High mirth there was in Holyrood, As fitted nuptial scene, For on that day Sebastian wed The favourite of the Queen. All Scotland's nobles graced the feast, And merrily went round the jest, Though some had secrets in their breast Enough to mar their sport. But in a time when all men lied. Nor trusted neighbour by their side, Deceit was more than justified; And, truly, of that Court, I doubt if there was any there Who showed in face or mien a care, Save Mary. But her cheek was pale, Sad was her smile at jest or tale; And though she strove to bear her part. She could not so devise, But that the anguish of her heart Came glistening to her eyes. VI Yes, when she looked upon the pair So fondly placed together there, Loving and loved, without a thought Beyond their present bliss and joy, All hope, all trust, all happiness, All faith without alloy, I saw her strive to hide her tears -- I am not gentler than my peers; Nor could I, in the general case, Divine why women weep and wail, But gazing on Queen Mary's face, I saw the cause, and could not fail. She thought her of the marriage-feast When Darnley was the chosen groom, When, trusting to his vows and faith, She gave herself, in beauty's bloom. When she was radiant as the bride, And he was, as the lover, gay; Alas! there rolled an awful tide Between that time and this to-day! Short interval; yet where was he, The partner of her bed and throne, The chief of all her chivalry? A wretched leper, and alone! Stricken, and sick, and ill at ease, Worn out with base debaucheries, Her lord once more was nigh; Broken in body and in mind -- A wretch, who paradise resigned, To wallow in a sty! VII How she endured him, after all His foulness and his insolence, Puzzles my mind -- but let it fall! God gave to woman gentler sense And sweeter temper than to man; And she will bear, like penitence, A load that makes the other ban. Saint-like she tarried by his side, And soothed his torment day by day; And though her grief she could not hide, No anger did her look betray. Now, in the midst of mirth and song, Her loving nature did not yield, And every moment seemed too long That kept her from the Kirk-of-Field. Early she gave the wonted sign In token that the feast was done; Her place was then by Darnley's bed, Till the late revelry begun. And I, like her, had counted time, And might not longer tarry there; For the wild impulse to a crime Hath all the urgence of despair. I knew her errand, and my own! I knew them both but far too well -- Hers was the thorny path to heaven, And mine the road that leads to hell! VIII Well I remember how my heart Beat as I oped the postern-door; My foot upon the threshold stayed, I scarce had power to venture o'er! The night was dark; a heavy mist Came creeping upward from the sea, -- 'Who waits there? Bolton -- Talla -- hist!' And straight they glided up to me. 'Is all prepared? -- speak soft and low.' 'All's done; beyond the walls they wait.' 'And Ormiston, where lingers he? He was not wont to be so late.' 'He tarries for you. But, my Lord, Some hidden treachery we dread; Two muffled men are on the watch, They passed us by with stealthy tread. No aid has come from Morton yet, Despite the promise that he gave; I searched the fields and orchard round, But all was silent as the grave.' 'Why then, our secret is our own: Far better that they are not there. As for the twain you speak of -- tush! Maskers or galliards -- never care! Give me your hand. Why, Hay, 'tis cold! No flinching now; the die is cast. Nay, man! be resolute and bold; To-morrow, and the danger's past. What brave young heart but would be fain To share in such a venturous deed? Away then; let's to Ormiston: Tread softly as you go -- take heed!' IX We found him graithed in steel array -- O, often yet I think of him! The strongest warrior of his day, A giant both in thews and limb. He was my friend, my father's too; But he is dead -- nor only he, For the black gibbet was the doom Of every man who stood by me! Well, well! God sain them -- sain them all! If what they died for was a crime, Death was atonement: for the rest I'll answer in the coming time, As I must answer. 'Ormiston!' 'Welcome, Lord Earl, but not too soon; I've waited here an hour and more, And cursed the coming of the moon. Thanks to the mist, the Borderer's friend, We shall not see her face to-night; I never rode a foray yet When I had comfort from her light. So Morton has not sent his men? I'm glad on't, Earl! 'Twere shame, I swear, That fifty jackmen should be brought To see one stripling vault in air. X I stood that night in Darnley's room, Above the chamber charged with death; At every sound that rose below There was a catching in my breath. The aspect of the boy was sad, For he was weak, and wrung with pain; Weary he lay upon the bed, From which he never rose again. I saw his brow so pale and damp, I saw his cheek so thin and spare -- I've seen it often since in dreams -- O wherefore did I seek him there? He lay, indeed, a dying man, His minutes numbered, marked, and spanned; With every ticking of the clock There fell a priceless grain of sand. Yet over him an angel bent, And soothed his pain, and wiped his brow -- So fair, so kind, so innocent, That all hell's tortures to me now Could scarce be worse than what I felt Within that thrice-accursed room! No heart so hard that will not melt When love stands weeping o'er the tomb. O had I hellebore for that -- That one damn'd hour! -- I'd count me blest; So would I banish from my couch The direst phantom of unrest! XI Time trickled on. I knew 'twas done, When Paris entered with the key -- I'd listened for his foot, as one Upon the rack might hail the tread Of the grim gaoler of the dead, Yet loathsome was his face to me! He looked a murderer; not for hate, Malice, or wrong, or other cause, By which the devil, or his mate, Tempt man to spurn his Maker's laws -- But from that hideous appetite, That lust for blood, that joy in sin, That shames the instinct of the wolf, So hellish is the heart within. Let no man seek to gain his end By felon means! I never felt So like a slave, as when he passed, And touched the key beneath his belt! For in his glance I read the thought -- 'Lord Bothwell! ever from this hour, Though you be great, and I am nought, Your life and fame are in my power!' Ah! shame, that I should now recall The meaner feelings of that time, The splinters and the accidents That flash from every deed of crime! Shame, that a face like his should rise To gibber at me even now, To scare me with his hateful eyes, And beckon from the gulf below! What recks it how a caitiff ends? If Murray paid him with a cord, Why, let his spectre haunt the friends Who did not deem him worth the sword! No more of that! -- The Queen arose, And we, her nobles, stood aloof Until she parted from her spouse, And then we left the fated roof. XII 'Back, back to Holyrood! away!' Then torches flashed, and yeomen came, And round the royal litter closed A gleaming zone of ruddy flame. I have slight memory of that walk -- Argyle, I think, spoke earnestly On state affairs, but of his talk Not any word remains with me. We came to Holyrood; and soon A gush of music filled the hall: The dance was set; the long saloon Glowed as in time of carnival. O hateful to me was the sound. And doubly hateful was the light! I could not bear to look around, I longed to plunge into the night. A low dull boom was in mine ear, A surging as of waters pent; And the strained sense refused to hear The words of passing merriment. What if that Babel should be stilled, Smote dumb, by one tremendous knell? What if the air above were filled With clanging from the clocks of hell? Yet waited I till all was o'er; The bride withdrew, the masque was done: And as I left the postern-door, Dully the palace bell struck, One! XIII I heard a sermon long ago, Wherein the preacher strove to show That guiltiness in high or low Hath the like touch of fear; And that the knight who sallies forth, Bent on an action of unworth, Though he be duke or belted earl, Feels the same tremor as the churl Who steals his neighbour's gear. I held his words for idle talk, And cast them from my view; But, in that awful midnight walk, I felt the man spake true. XIV I heard the echo of my foot, As up the Canongate I sped, Distinct, as though in close pursuit Some spy kept even with my tread. Or did I run, or did I pause, That sound was ever bickering near; And though I guessed full well the cause, I could not free myself from fear. I almost stumbled in the dark Upon a houseless, vagrant hound, And his sharp snarl, and sudden bark, Made my heart leap, and pulses bound. Wherever there were lights on high, Methought there stood some watcher pale -- Thin shadows seemed to flitter by, I heard low voices mourn and wail. And I could swear that once I saw A phantom gliding by the place Where then I stood. I shook with awe -- The face was like my mother's face, When last I saw her on her bier! Are there such things? or does the dread Of coming evil craze our fear, And so bring up the sheeted dead? I cannot tell. But this I know, That rather than endure again Such hideous thoughts, I'd fight the foe, And reckon with them, blow for blow, Though I were one, and they were ten! XV I passed beyond the city wall; No light there was in hut or bield, I scarce could find the narrow lane That led me to the Kirk-of-Field. Three men were speeding from the door; They ran against me in the way -- 'Who's that?' ''Tis I!' 'Lord Bothwell? Back, Back, back -- my Lord! make no delay! The doors are locked, the match is lit -- A moment more, and all is done -- Let's 'void the ground!' 'He sleeps then sound?' 'Within that house shall waken none!' Shortly we paused. I strained my sight To trace the outline of the pile; But neither moon nor stars gave light, And so we waited for a while. XVI Down came the rain with steady pour, It splashed the pools among our feet; Each minute seemed in length an hour, As each went by, yet uncomplete. 'Hell! should it fail, our plot is vain! Bolton -- you have mislaid the light! Give me the key -- I'll fire the train, Though I be partner of his flight!' 'Stay, stay, my Lord! you shall not go! 'Twere madness now to near the place; The soldiers' fuses burn but slow; Abide, abide a little space! There's time enough' -- XVII He said no more, For at the instant flashed the glare, And with a hoarse infernal roar A blaze went up and filled the air! Rafters, and stones, and bodies rose In one quick gush of blinding flame, And down, and down, amidst the dark, Hurtling on every side they came. Surely the devil tarried near, To make the blast more fierce and fell, For never pealed on human ear So dreadful and so dire a knell. The heavens took up the earth's dismay, The thunder bellowed overhead; Steep called to steep. Away, away! -- Then fear fell on me, and I fled; For I was dazzled and amazed -- A fire was flashing in my brain -- I hasted like a creature crazed, Who strives to overrun his pain. I took the least-frequented road, But even there arose a hum; Lights showed in every vile abode, And far away I heard the drum. Roused was the city, late so still; Burghers, half clad, ran hurrying by, Old crones came forth, and scolded shrill, Men shouted challenge and reply. Yet no one dared to cross my path, My hand was on my dagger's hilt; Fear is as terrible as wrath, And vengeance not more fierce than guilt. I would have stricken to the heart Whoever should have stopped me then; None saw me from the palace part, None saw me enter it again. Ah! but I heard a whisper pass, It thrilled me as I reached the door -- 'Welcome to thee, the knight that was, The felon now for evermore!' | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SECULAR GAMES by RICHARD HOWARD WHAT DID YOU SEE? by FANNY HOWE JULIA TUTWILER STATE PRISON FOR WOMEN by ANDREW HUDGINS BOTHWELL: PART 4 by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN BOTHWELL: PART 4 by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN WORK IN PROGRESS by CHARLES MARTIN THE SUBCULTURE OF THE WRONGLY ACCUSED by THYLIAS MOSS BOTHWELL: PART 4 by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN |
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