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BOTHWELL: PART 6, by             Poem Explanation     Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: O that I were a mountaineer
Last Line: Come, death; and I will welcome thee!
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

O THAT I were a mountaineer,
To dwell among the Highland hills!
To tread the heath, to watch the deer,
Beside the fountains of the rills;
To wander by the lonely lake
All silent in the evening's glow,
When, like a phantom, from the brake
Comes gliding past the stealthy roe --
Without a thought, without a care,
Without ambition, pomp, or crime,
To live a harmless peasant there,
And die at God's appointed time!
For O, of what avail are power,
Wealth, worship -- all we seek to win,
Unless they bring the priceless dower
Of rest, and hope, and peace within?

II

I had no peace; if peace it be
To rest unscared, to wake secure,
To let the fancy wander free,
Or dream of pleasant things and pure:
To take sweet counsel with a friend,
Or, dearer, with a loving wife,
And sometimes gladly to unbend
The strained and weary bow of life.
Broken and feverish was my sleep,
For, all night long, within my room
Methought I heard the murderers creep,
And voices whisper through the gloom.
Nor, when the ghastly night was o'er,
Content or respite did I win;
For guilt stood sentry at the door,
And challenged all who ventured in.
In fear I slept; in fear I woke;
In fear I lingered out the day;
Whatever lord or courtier spoke,
I thought was uttered to betray.
I had no friends, save those whose fate
A common danger linked with mine --
Men who provoked the people's hate,
And roared, like ruffians, o'er their wine.
The burghers heard the noisy brawl
That scared the swallows from their eaves,
And mourned that Scotland's royal hall
Should thus be made a den of thieves.

III

I had a wife -- a fair one too --
But love I durst not even name!
I kept aloof, for why renew
The memory of my sin and shame?
She was my hostage, not my bride;
Enough it was for me to know
She could not sever from my side,
Nor yet unsay the marriage-vow.
O these were not my thoughts of yore,
When, free from fell ambition's taint,
I worshipped, as I knelt before
The queen, the woman, and the saint!
My hand had torn the wings of love,
Profaned its temple, soiled its shrine;
No pardon here, nor yet above,
Could granted be to guilt like mine!

IV

Pardon! I sought it not from men;
I would not take it at their hand;
I owned no judge, no master then;
I was the lord within the land.
Pardon! the word was made for slaves,
Not for a Sovereign Prince like me:
Lost is the man who pardon craves
From any baser in degree.
There is a peak of guilt so high,
That those who reach it stand above
The sweep of dull humanity,
The trail of passion and of love.
The lower clouds that dim the heaven,
Touch not the mountain's hoary crown,
And on the summit, thunder-riven,
God's lightning only smites them down

V

O for a war to make me freed!
Had England but denied my claim,
And sent an army o'er the Tweed
To wrap the Border braes in flame --
Then Scotland would have risen indeed,
And followed me, if but for shame!
I might have met the foe in field,
And raised the Hepburn's name so high,
That none thereafter on my shield
Could trace the bend of infamy.
I might have won the people's heart,
For all men love the stalwart arm;
And valour triumphs over art,
As faith defies a wizard's charm.
Once victor o'er my country's foes,
What lord in Scotland durst oppose
Her champion's rights, or mutter shame
Against my newly-gilded name?
Nor to the preachers had I turned
Disdainful ear. I never spurned
Their doctrines, though I did not care,
And knew not what those doctrines were.
In truth, I thought the time had come
When every state in Europe wide
Should clear itself from bonds of Rome;
And let the Pontiff, deified,
Deal with the candle, book, and bell,
In any way that pleased him well.

VI

But England moved not. England lay,
As doth the lion in the brake,
When waiting for some noble prey,
With ear intent, and eye awake:
I, like a wretched mongrel cur,
Might safely pass his couch before;
Not for my snarling would he stir --
I was not worth the lion's roar!
The courtiers left me; one by one,
Like shadows did they glide away:
My old confederates all were gone --
Why should the fortune-hunters stay?

VII

There was dead silence for a space:
A hush, as deep and still
As on the lowly valley lies,
When clouds, surcharged with lightning, rise,
And loom along the hill.
Then with a rush, the rumours came
Of gatherings near at hand,
Where nobles, knights, and chiefs of fame,
Were arming in the Prince's name,
To drive me from the land!
And straightway through the city rose
The low and angry hum,
That tells of keen and bitter foes
Who cluster ere they come.
Post after post rode clattering in,
Loud rung the court with soldiers' din;
For Bolton at the first alarm
Bade all the troopers rise and arm.

VIII

Aroused as if by trumpet-call,
I felt my spirit bound;
No longer pent in hateful hall.
Now must I forth to fight or fall,
With men-at-arms around!
I cared not what the scouts might bring --
I hungered for the strife;
When victor, I must reign as King;
If vanquished, yield my life.
With spear in rest, and visor down,
'Twas but one swift career --
A glorious grave, or else a crown --
The sceptre, or the bier!
Aha! there was no tarrying then!
For prance of steed, and tramp of men,
And clash of arms, and hasty call,
Were heard in court, and street, and hall.
Each trooper drew a heartier breath,
And keener glowed his eye;
I knew that from the field of death
No man of mine would fly!

IX

'Give me your hand, brave Ormiston!
My father loved you dear!
Not better than you love his son --
For since the day that I could run,
Or shake a mimic spear,
You were my guardian and my guide,
And never parted from my side
In danger, doubt, or fear.
There's comfort in thy hearty grasp;
By heaven, it is an honest hand!
I'd rather hold it in my clasp,
Than any noble's in the land.
Henceforward must I stand alone,
Or only lean on friends like thee;
Of all the caitiff Lords, not one
Is here to strike a blow for me!
But let it pass -- we'll match them yet!
The star of Bothwell hath not set;
Nor will it pale its royal light,
For traitor's craft or foeman's might.
I'll hold account for every deed,
From this momentous hour;
And those who fail me in my need
Shall feel me in my power!

X

'Now then; what news?' 'This much I learn,
That Morton, Atholl, and Glencairn,
Lindsay and Home, Kirkaldy, Mar,
Drumlanrig, Cessford, raise the war.
They've drawn to Stirling. What their force,
Our scouts could hardly tell;
Enow there are of man and horse.
To fence a battle well.'
'Morton! art sure? Is Morton there?
Ah, then I have him in the snare!
If it be mine, but once, to tread
Victorious on a field of dead,
I'll have that perjured villain's head!
Atholl? It is a monstrous sign,
When Atholl and Glencairn combine!
Who could have brought the friend of Rome
To beard me, from his Highland home?
Ah, now I see it! Lethington,
That arch-dissembler, stirs him on;
My evil genius still was he --
Fool that I was to set him free!
A dungeon in yon fortress grim
Had been the fittest place for him.
So then! The masks are thrown away,
Confessed is every foe;
And boldly to the battle fray,
With lighter hearts we'll go.
But there 's a danger near at hand,
A snake to crush or kill!
What hear'st thou of the City band?
The craftsmen -- bide they still?'

XI

'If I have read their faces right,
My life on't, they will rise to-night!
The booths are closed, the windows barred;
In every street patrols a guard.
The rogues are restless; by and by,
They'll all come swarming here:
'Twere best to flit, though not to fly,
Whilst yet the road is clear.
I am not wont to shun a fray,
And seldom give a faint advice,
But this most frankly do I say --
I'd rather ride the Teviot thrice,
When rolling in its heaviest flood,
Than meet that rascal multitude!
Give me an open field without,
And then, with fifty men,
I'd drive, like chaff, the rabble rout
Back to their smoky den.
We dare not venture, for their guard,
What force these walls require;
And shame it were, if, in our ward,
The Palace sunk in fire!
Away then, Duke! and warn the Queen:
Doubtless her Grace will gladly ride!
Her presence must be plainly seen,
To bring the faithful to our side.
Were all the Border chieftains true,
I'd care not what the rest might do.
I knew that soon the strife must come --
That stout Kirkaldy would not sleep,
Nor Morton tarry in his keep --
But this revolt of Ker and Home
Hath changed the aspect of the war:
Therefore let 's forth without delay.
Out trysting-place shall be Dunbar,
With Borthwick on the way.'

XII

I know not why: but o'er my soul,
That eve, the self-same bodement stole
That thrilled me with a sad presage
When last I gazed on Hermitage.
The troopers in procession wound,
Along the slant and broken ground,
Beneath old Arthur's lion-hill.
The Queen went onward with her train
I rode not by her palfrey's rein,
But lingered at the tiny rill
That flows from Anton's fane.
Red was the sky; but Holyrood
In dusk and sullen grandeur stood.
It seemed as though the setting sun
Refused to lend it light,
So cheerless was its look, and dun,
While all above was bright.
Black in the glare rose spire and vane,
No lustre streamed from window-pane;
But, as I stood, the Abbey bell
Tolled out, with such a dismal knell
As smites with awe the shuddering crowd,
When a king's folded in his shroud --
Methought it said, Farewell!

XIII

So passed we on. The month was June:
We did not need the lady moon
To light us onwards on our way
Through thickets white with hawthorn spray.
Past old Dalhousie's stately tower,
Up the lone Esk, across the moor,
By many a hamlet, many a spring,
By holt, and knowe, and fairy ring,
By many a noted trysting-place,
We held our course, nor slacked our pace,
Till far away beyond the road
The lights in Borthwick Castle showed.
Short tarrying had we there, I ween!
Again we sought the woodlands green;
For fiery Home was on our track,
With thousand spearmen at his back:
Nor dared we rest, till from Dunbar
I gave the signal for the war.

XIV

By heaven, it was a glorious sight,
When the sun started from the sea,
And in the vivid morning light
The long blue waves were rolling free!
But little time had I to gaze
Upon the ocean's kindling face,
Or mark the breakers in the bay --
For other thoughts were mine that day.
I stood upon the topmost tower:
From wood, and shaw, and brake, and bower,
I heard the trumpet's blithesome sound,
I heard the tuck of drum;
And, bearing for the castle mound,
I saw the squadrons come.
Each Baron, sheathed from head to heel
In splendid panoply of steel,
Rode stalwartly before his band,
The bravest yeomen of the land.
There were the pennons that in fight
Had flashed across the Southron's sight --
There were the spears that bore the brunt,
And bristled in the battle's front
On many a bloody day --
The swords, that through the hostile press,
When steeds were plunging masterless,
Had hewn their desperate way!
O gallant hearts! what joy to ride,
Your lord and leader, prince and guide,
With you around me, and beside,
But once in battle fray!

XV

Brief counsel held we in the hall:
Ready for fight seemed one and all.
Though somewhat I was chafed to bear
But cold regard from knight and peer.
I was the husband of their Queen:
Not less, nor more. Old Seton's mien
Was haughty, grave -- no frankness there.
With his long beard, and lyart hair,
His heavy mantle o'er him thrown,
He looked an effigy of stone.
He must be in his grave ere now,
And so I will not speak him wrong;
But, then, the hardness of his brow
Was more than I could suffer long.
He was a noble of a stamp
Whereof this age hath witnessed few;
Men who came duly to the camp,
Whene'er the Royal trumpet blew.
Blunt tenure lords, who deemed the Crown
As sacred as the Holy Tree,
And laid their lives and fortunes down,
Not caring what the cause might be.
Such chiefs were they who held the fight,
And strove, and would not yield,
Till rushed from heaven the stars of night
O'er Flodden's cumbered field.
Spare were his words, his greeting cold,
His look more distant than of old.
But that 'twere madness to offend
The simplest knight that seemed a friend;
But that my men were few --
I would have made Lord Seton know
That not a peer should slight me so,
Or fail in reverence due!

XVI

And Mary -- what did she the while?
Alas, she never showed a smile!
I dared not ask her to appear
Within the castle hall.
Her champions and her knights to cheer --
She might have hailed them with a tear,
Or breathed a word in Seton's ear,
That would have wrought my fall.
She loathed her bondage -- that I knew.
What is it woman will not do
To free herself from thrall?
She, daughter of a race of kings,
Instinct with that desire
Which makes the eagle beat its wings
Against the prison wire --
She, wronged, insulted, and betrayed,
Might she not claim her vassals' aid?
Conjure them by their oath and vows
To bear her from her hated spouse,
And, in the face of heaven, proclaim
My guilt, my treason, and my shame?
They asked not, in her secret bower,
The wearied Queen to see;
I took, by right, the husband's power,
And none dared question me.

XVII

Another morn -- another day! --
And what, ere dusk, was I?
A fugitive, a castaway,
A recreant knight who did not stay
On battle-field to die!
Curs'd be the hands that held me back
When death lay ready in my track,
Curs'd be the slaves who turned my rein
And forced me panting from the plain! --
O boaster, liar, murderer -- worse,
Traitor and felon -- hold thy curse!
Curse not, for lost though others be,
There's none so deep debased as thee!
A murderer may be strong of heart,
A liar act a warrior's part,
A traitor may be bold and brave,
A felon fearless at the grave --
Branded, condemned, of fame bereft,
The courage of a man is left.
But coward -- O that sickening sound!
Great God! To pass without a wound,
Without one shivered spear or blow,
From such a field, from such a foe,
To lose a Queen and kingdom so --
To tremble, shrink, and vilely fly --
It was not I! -- it was not I!

XVIII

O breeze! that blowest from the west,
O'er that dear land I loved the best --
Breathe on my temples, cool my brow,
And keep the madness from me now!
Blood seems to rankle in my eyes,
Red as a furnace glare the skies;
And all things waver up and down,
Like shadows in a burning town.
There's hellish laughter in mine ear --
More air -- more air! I stifle here!

XIX

Devil! thou shalt not yet prevail;
Before thy face I will not quail!
I fled -- Do brave men never fly?
I am no coward -- 'tis a lie!
I stood upon Carberry's height,
Eager, intent, resolved to fight,
Ay, to the death, as seems a knight!
Down on the plain, beyond the hill,
The foe were motionless and still.
Why tarried so the rebel lords?
Were we not ready with our swords?
They came not on with shield and targe,
And lances levelled for the charge;
But safe in summer ambush lay,
Like children on a holiday.

XX

I sent a challenge to their van --
The Laird of Grange that challenge bore,
I spared his life an hour before --
I bade them choose their bravest man,
My equal in degree;
So that we two alone might try
The cast for death or victory,
And all the rest go free.
No braggart speech was that of mine.
My blood had flowed, ere then, like wine,
In fiercer combat and more fell
Than any Scottish peer could tell.
I, who had laid John Elliot low,
Need scarce have feared another foe!

XXI

Rare answer to my call they gave --
O they were noble hearts and brave!
First, Tullibardine offered fight.
He was at best a simple knight,
Without a claim, without a right
To meet a prince like me.
He was no mate in camp or hall;
I stood not there to fight with all,
Whatever their degree.
'I dare not then,' Kirkaldy said,
'To take this quarrel on my head.
If Tullibardine ranks too low
To hold your challenge as a foe,
No better claim have I.
Yet, would the Duke of Orkney deign
To meet me yonder on the plain,
And there his fortune try,
I cannot think that any stain
Upon his name would lie.
It has been mine, ere now, to ride
In battle front by Princes' side;
With Egmont I have broke a lance,
Charged with the Constable of France --'
Then Ormiston broke in: --
'What needs this vaunting? Wherefore tell
A story that we know full well?
If never Scot did win
More fame than you in fields abroad,
Where better men, I think, have trod,
How stand you here to-day?
A traitor to your Queen and God,
A knave in knight's array!
Aha! you startle at the word --
Here am I ready, with my sword,
To prove it, if you dare!
I am your equal -- will you fight?
I stand in arms for Mary's right --
Do this, and I'll believe you quite,
Rank boaster though you are!'

XXII

Grimly his foe Kirkaldy eyed,
And heavy breath he drew;
Clenched was his hand as he replied,
For sharp the taunt, and true.
'Thou hast the vantage -- that I feel!
They wit hath mastered mine:
I came not here to prove my steel
On ruffian crests like thine!
Yet just, in part, is thy rebuke,
So much I yield to thee --
I was in fault to urge the Duke,
As now thou urgest me.
But not by jeer or ribald word
Canst thou so far prevail,
As tempt me now to draw my sword,
Far less return thy rail.
I will not meet a murderer, sir,
For such, I ween, art thou!'
'So la! Here is a goodly stir,
And tender conscience too!
John Knox has done his duty well,
His pupil's apt and fain!
When holy Kirk rings out the bell,
Her saints must needs refrain.
Hearken, sir knight! for all your boast,
For all your foreign pride,
Your place is humble in the host,
And more -- you stand defied!
I fling the lie into your teeth,
The scorn upon your head!
Say, was that sword within its sheath,
When priestly Beatoun bled?
Murder, indeed! Pluck off your glove,
Lift up your hand on high --
Swear, in the face of heaven above,
You're sackless -- then I lie!'

XXIII

'Hold, sirs!' I said, 'and list to me.
Your quarrel well can wait:
Since present combat may not be,
Forbear this rude debate!
Unanswered is my challenge still
By those to whom 'twas borne,
If you, Kirkaldy, spoke my will --
Is that from fear or scorn?
Your offer, sir, was mere pretext!
Doubtless some squire would venture next;
Or some stark yeoman of your band
Would crave to meet me, hand to hand!
Go -- say to Morton and to Mar,
I strained my courtesy too far,
In that I sent my battle-gage
To every rebel peer.
Perchance their prudence cools their rage,
Or else they did not hear!
Brave leaders have you, Laird of Grange --
I wish you joy, Sir, of the change!
Here might I tarry for a week,
And never find a foe.
The friends in France of whom you speak
Had scarcely lingered so!

XXIV

'Go back -- and tell them I revoke
The general challenge that I spoke.
Say that I now demand the right,
Open to every peer and knight,
To call his equal to the field.
Say, that I smite on Morton's shield!
If he refuse, through Europe wide
I'll brand him as a recreant knave --
If he comes forth, the quarrel's tried,
For one or both shall find a grave.
And now, God speed you! go your way:
I have no other word to say.'

XXV

Glad was I when he turned his steed,
And slowly paced towards the mead,
Where, round a standard, whose device
I could not scan so far,
Lay stretched in sluggards' paradise,
The leaders of the war.
Yet throbbed my heart, for well I knew
A cursed chance had been,
While I was forth the field to view,
Kirkaldy met the Queen!
And fear came on me, as the blight
Of fever shakes the frame,
I could not guide my thoughts aright,
My blood was hot as flame.
But in his mail writhed Ormiston,
As writhes in storm the oak,
And twice I heard his angry groan
Ere yet a word I spoke.
'What answer on the rebels' part
Will yon Kirkaldy bear?'
'An answer that will freeze your heart,
And drive you to despair!

XXVI

'Yonder, unscathed, triumphant, goes
The only man I dread!
What madness made you interpose,
When he was ready-ripe for blows,
And I could strike him dead?
He takes a secret to their camp,
Is worth your life and mine,
My hand was up to break the lamp,
But you will have it shine!
Ay! and forsooth, you must display
Your idle chivalry to-day!
You'd fight with Morton? Easy boast!
He will not fight with you.
Why, you proclaim your fortune lost --
You tell them that you doubt your host;
For, if that host were true,
No warlike leader, ever known,
From the arch-angel Michael, down
To the poor Laird with twenty spears,
Would so dishonour his compeers!
And they are faint: and fainter still
You'll find them at the dawn,
If sets the sun behind the hill
Ere yet the swords are drawn.
Hark you -- one only chance is ours!
Let me, this instant, form our powers.
The Border lances will not fail,
Though all the rest remain;
I'll to the bands of Liddesdale,
And lead them to the plain.
Bide where you are, or seek the Queen;
Leave all the charge to me,
And desperate work upon the green,
Within the hour, you'll see!
Come, Duke -- the signal! Let me go,
And, by my father's head,
I'll bring you bound your deadliest foe,
Or leave him yonder, dead!'

XXVII

'I cannot do it -- for my word
Is pledged; I needs must wait.'
'You? Are we nothing here, my Lord?
You are not yet so great,
That valiant men should lay their lives
At your commandment down.
Sir -- had you twenty royal wives,
You never wore the crown!
I have some reverence for my neck,
And will not risk it at your beck!
Hearken! You know my way of old --
Best is the truth when bluntly told.
Your life and mine are now at stake,
There's but one game to play;
One charge is all that we can make.
And that I'll make to-day!
Nay, if you wish it, come with me,
Together let us ride;
No franker hand, so it were free,
I'd welcome to my side.
Better to die with helm on head,
Than mount a scaffold grim --
Why -- you are paler than the dead,
You shake in every limb!
Are you the man who went so far
At Kirk-of-Field, and at Dunbar,
And shrink you from the face of war?
Why stand you here as on parade?
By heaven -- I think the Duke's afraid!
If it be so, then fare you well!
Now, shall we onwards go?
Each minute is a passing-bell --
'Sdeath! answer, yes or no!'

XXVIII

'I tarry here!' 'God help thee then --
I'll see thy face no more!
Like water spilt upon the plain,
Not to be gathered up again,
Is the old love I bore.
Best I forget thee, Bothwell! Yet
'Tis not so easy to forget;
For, at the latest hour, I see
I've tyned a life by following thee.
Friends, fortune, fame, a crown are lost,
By you, the captain of a host,
The host is standing idly there,
And not a single blade is bare!
Saint Andrew! what a scurvy tale
To carry back to Teviotdale!
Farewell, thou poor inconstant lord --
Farewell -- it is my latest word!'

XXIX

He parted like a flash of fire;
He vanished o'er the hill;
My friend, the follower of my sire,
The man I trusted still!
What spell was on me, that I stayed,
Nor tried the chance of war?
Ah -- she, the injured and betrayed,
The captive of Dunbar --
I did not dare to face her then,
Before Lord Seton and his men!
But, from the plain, a trumpet call
Came ringing, sharp and clear;
Up flew the knightly pennons all,
Up rose, in clumps, the spear.
And hastily each leader went,
To marshal forth his band;
And steeds neighed fiercely, to the scent
Of battle near at hand.
Then, from their ranks, Kirkaldy came,
To me he wended slow; --
O, I could slay myself for shame,
As I recall it now! --
There was no vaunting in his look:
The man was brave as bold;
His eye was like a priest's rebuke,
So calm it was and cold.

XXX

'Now, sir -- will Morton forward stand,
Or does he shun me still?'
Aloft Kirkaldy raised his hand,
And pointed to the hill.
'Nay! look, my lord, to yonder height,
And mark the tumult there;
Is it for combat or for flight,
Those broken bands prepare?
An ancient soldier, well I know
Each move on battle-plain;
Though firm their front an hour ago,
They'll never knit again!
There go the men from Teviot-side!
They do not fly from fear.
See -- o'er the edge the troopers ride,
How quick they disappear!
Now Liddesdale, your surest stay,
Is turning -- Duke, you groan!
Whose ensign is it they display?
Look there -- it is your own!'

XXXI

Yes! every word he spoke was true;
My cause was lost, and that I knew;
Yet haughtily I said --
'My challenge, sir! Do you forget
That Morton hath not answered yet?'
Kirkaldy bowed his head.
'Take this for answer -- not for feud
Or chivalrous display,
Shall any drop of Scottish blood
Be wagered here to-day!
Forego this dream of idle strife,
Black Death is hovering near;
O sir, you dally with your life
By longer tarrying here!
I love you not; but loth were I,
Whate'er your deeds have been,
To see a Scottish noble die
A death of shame and infamy;
And more, because he stood so high,
The husband of my Queen!
Take counsel from a foe -- beware!
Fly, sir, while yet you can.
Attainted and proscribed you are,
A tried and sentenced man!
And swift and hasty be your flight;
For, if you spur not, while the night
Can shroud you with its gloom,
You die -- but not in noble fight;
The scaffold is your doom!
Come then with me: while I am here,
No sudden onset need you fear.
I seek the Queen. Belike, once more,
You would behold her face:
Then, far away from Scotland's shore,
Depart -- God give you grace!'

XXXII

Had the earth yawned, the thunder crashed,
Or had the bolts of lightning flashed,
And right before me broke;
I had not felt more deep abashed
Than when Kirkaldy spoke.
I went -- God help me, how I went! --
A culprit up to Mary's tent:
No eyes were fixed on me.
All looked upon the Laird of Grange,
As if, throughout broad Scotland's range,
Was none so great as he.

XXXIII

There was more life in Mary's face,
A higher dignity and grace,
Than I had marked for many a day.
Behind her, in their steel array,
Seton and Yester gravely stood:
Their presence boded little good,
No love for me had they.
And none were there, with kindly grasp,
My hand within their own to clasp;
No voice to whisper in my ear
That hope was yet alive;
No friend to bid me cope with fear,
And still with fortune strive.
I might have conquered -- who can tell?
I might have kept mine own:
O Ormiston -- it was not well
To leave me thus alone!

XXXIV

Before the Queen Kirkaldy bent,
And graciously she said: --
'Now, speak, Sir Knight; with what intent
Is yonder host arrayed?
What seek my Lords?' Then answered he,
They come to set your Highness free!
Your pardon -- though the Duke be here,
I must speak boldly on.
They hold him as a traitor peer,
To you and to your son --'
Then burst my wrath; -- 'Dare they deny
The solemn Band they gave?
By heaven, such weight of infamy
Should sink them to the grave!
Did they not say that I alone
Was the fit man to guard the throne?
Who claimed for me my Sovereign's hand?
Have faith and honour left the land?'

XXXV

'Your pardon, Duke!' Kirkaldy said,
'Not of the Band is question made,
But did you not, by force of war,
Convey her Highness to Dunbar?
My gracious Liege! The Peers invite
Your Highness to return this night
To Holyrood, your royal home,
And to escort you there, they come.
Not against you shall Scottish swords
E'er glitter in the sun.
This message bear I from the Lords;
And now my task is done.'

XXXVI

Not once did Mary's eye and mine
Encounter while he spoke.
I felt it as a dismal sign:
The daughter of the Stuart line
Would not endure the yoke!
'My answer, sir,' she said, 'depends
Upon the temper of your friends.
Plainly -- their purpose with the Duke?
Mark this, that when his hand I took
And spake the solemn vows,
I lost my freedom to rebuke;
I owned him as my spouse.
If, for my sake, the Lords appear,
The right is mine to dictate here.
My husband shall not brook the shame
Of trial and disgrace;
I will not so demean my name,
Or so belie my race,
As let my subjects venge my wrong,
Whatever wrong there be.
Thanks be to God, I yet am strong
Through those brave Lords you see!
Good sir! your course has upright been,
Your honour all allow --
Pray you, deal frankly with your Queen
Who asks a service now.
Set free the path, your host restrain;
And by your knighthood swear,
That not a man shall quit his train,
Ere I pass downward to the plain,
And greet my nobles there.'
'So shall it be,' Kirkaldy said;
'For that I pledge my life, my head!
Free is the Duke to pass from hence,
Without molest, without offence,
With all his following, all his power,
So that he tarries not an hour.'

XXXVII

The tear was in Queen Mary's eye,
As forth she held her hand.
'Then is the time of parting nigh!
For, Bothwell, my command
Is that you go and save a life
That else were lost in useless strife.
Farewell! We shall not meet again;
But I have passed such years of pain --
So many partings have I known,
That this poor heart has callous grown.
Farewell! If any thing there be
That moves you when you think on me,
Believe that you are quite forgiven
By one who bids you pray to Heaven!
No soul alive so innocent
But needs must beg at Mercy's door --
Farewell!' She passed from out the tent.
O God -- I never saw her more!

XXXVIII

Was it a dream? or did I hear
A yell of scorn assail my ear,
As frantic from the host I rode?
The very charger I bestrode
Rebelled in wrath against the rein,
And strove to bear me back again!
Lost, lost! I cared not where I went --
Lost, lost! And none were there,
Save those who sought in banishment
A refuge from despair.
How fared the rest? I do not know,
For I was maddened with my woe.
But I remember when we sailed
From out that dreary Forth,
And in the dull of morning hailed
The headlands of the North:
The hills of Caithness wrapped in rain,
The reach of Stroma's isle,
The Pentland, where the furious main
Roars white for many a mile --
Until we steered by Shapinsay,
And moored our bark in Kirkwall bay.
Yet not in Orkney would they brook
The presence of their banished Duke.
The castle gates were shut and barred,
Up rose in arms the burgher guard;
No refuge there we found.
But that I durst not tarry long,
I would have ta'en that castle strong,
And razed it to the ground!
North, ever north! We sailed by night,
And yet the sky was red with light,
And purple rolled the deep.
When morning came, we saw the tide
Break thundering on the rugged side
Of Sumburgh's awful steep;
And, weary of the wave, at last
In Bressay Sound our anchor cast.

XXXIX

O faithless were the waves and wind!
Still the avenger sped behind.
No rock so rude, no isle so lone,
That I might claim it as my own,
A price was set upon my head,
Hunted from place to place I fled;
Till chased across the open seas,
I met the surly Dane.
These were his gifts and welcome -- these!
A dungeon and a chain!

XL

Descend, black night! Blot out thy stars;
Nor let them through those prison bars
Behold me writhing here!
For there's a hand upon my heart
That makes my being thrill and start;
A voice is in mine ear.
I hear its whisper, sad and low,
As if a spirit wailed in woe --
'Bothwell! thine end is near.'
O then, in mercy, keep away,
Ye spectral forms, nor cast dismay
Upon me in my dying hour!
Why should it please you that I cower,
Like a lashed hound, beneath your stare,
And shriek, a madman in despair?
Give me one night, 'tis all I crave,
To pass in darkness to the grave,
Nor more this agony renew --
What's here? -- No phantom of the tomb!
Death has not cast his livid hue
On that pale cheek, nor stamped his gloom
Upon the forehead, fair and high,
Of Scotland's Queenly Majesty!
Mary, is't thou? and com'st thou here,
Alive, to chide me for my wrong?
O, for the love of God, forbear!
Haunt me not now! I've suffered long,
And bitter has my anguish been!
What brings thee hither, woeful Queen?
Ah, what is that? a scaffold dressed --
The axe, the headsman, and the priest --
O God! it surely cannot be! --
Come, Death; and I will welcome thee!





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