• I Catherine was am a Douglas born,
• A name to all Scots dear;
• And Kate Barlass they've called me now
• Through many an aging a waning year.

• This old arm's withered now. 'Twas once
• Most deft 'mong maidens all
• To rein the steed, to wing the shaft,
• To smite the palm-play ball.

• In hall adown the close-linked dance
• 10It has shone most white and fair;
• It has been the rest for a true lord's head,
• And many a sweet babe's cradle nursing-bed,
• And the bar to a King's chambère.

• Aye, lasses, draw round Kate Barlass,
• And hark with bated breath
• How good King James, King Robert's son,
• Was foully done to death.

• Through all the days of his gallant youth
• The princely James was pent,
• 20By his friends at first and then by his foes,
• In long imprisonment.

• For the elder Prince, the kingdom's heir,
• By treason's murderous brood
• Was slain; and the father quaked for the child
• With the royal mortal blood.

• In I' the Bass Rock fort, by his father's will care,
• Was his childhood's life assured;
• And Henry the subtle Bolingbroke,
• Proud England's King, 'neath the southron yoke
• 30His youth for long years immured.

• Yet in all things meet for a kingly man
• Himself did he approve;
• And the nightingale through his prison-wall
• Taught him both lore and love.

• For once, when the bird's song drew him close
• To the opened window-pane,
• In her bowers beneath a lady stood,
• A light of life to his sorrowful mood,
• Like a lily amid the rain.

• 40And for her sake, to the sweet bird's note,
• He framed a sweeter Song,
• More sweet than ever a poet's heart
• Gave yet to the English tongue.

• She was a lady of royal blood;
• And when, past sorrow and teen,
• He stood where for many/ all still through his crownless years
• His Scotish realm had been,
• At Scone were the happy lovers crowned,
• A heart-wed King and Queen.

• 50But the bird may fall from the bough of youth,
• And song may be turn ed to moan,
• And Love's storm-cloud be the shadow of Hate,
• When the tempest-waves of a troubled State
• Are beating against a throne.

• Yet well they loved; and the god of Love,
• Whom well the King had sung,
• Could have found no simple Might find on the earth no truer hearts
• His lowliest swains among.

• From the days when first she rode abroad
• 60With Scotish maids in her train,
• I Catherine Douglas won the trust
• Of my mistress sweet Queen Jane.

• And oft she sighed, “To be born a King!”
• And oft along the way
• When she saw the homely lovers pass
• She has said, “Alack the day!”

• Years pa waned,—the loving & toiling years:
• Till England's wrong renew'd/paid ? wrong renewed
• Drove James, by outrage cast on his crown,
• 70To the open field of feud/war feud.

• 'Twas when the King and his host were met
• At the leaguer of Roxbro' hold,
• The Queen o' the sudden sought his camp
• With a tale of dread to be told.

• And she showed him a secret letter writ
• 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,
• 80In the camp or the court,” she said:
• “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,
• “And show the power you wield;
• And under your Scotish people's love
• You shall sit as under your shield.”

• At the fair Queen's side I stood that day
• 90When he bade them raise the siege,
• And back to his Court he sped to larn 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
• 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
• 100Through Scotland far and wide;
• 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
• I set you under their ban!

• “For, as your lords made oath to you
• Of service and fealty,
• Even in like wise you pledged your oath
• 110Their faithful sire to be:—

• “Yet all we here that are nobly sprung
• Have mourned dear kith and kin
• Since first for the Scotish Barons' curse
• Did your bloody rule begin.”

• With that he laid his hands on his King:—
• “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, “Hale hence thou traitor knight!”
• 120The 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
• 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':—
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• “No Liege of mine thou art; but I see
• 130From this day forth alone in thee
• God's creature, my mortal foe.

• “Through thee are my wife and children lost,
• My heritage and lands;
• 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
• I' the Black Friars' Charterhouse of Perth
• 140A kingly solemn festival.

• And we of his household rode with him
• In a close-ranked company;
• But not till the moon was high in the clouds sun had sunk from his throne
• Did we reach the Scotish Sea.

• That eve was clenched for a boding storm,
• 'Neath a moon ? bare and ? toilsome moon half seen;
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Added Text
• And was it only the tossing furns
• Or brake of the waste sea-wold?
• Or was it an eagle bent to the blast?
• When then near we came, we knew it at last
• For a woman tattered and old.
Deleted Text
• And first 'twas the tossing ferns, and then
  Added TextMeseemed 'twas only the tossing ferns
• Torn trees Or brake/signbrake/copse of the waste sea-wold?
• Or was it And then an eagle bent to the blast?
• And then an unstartled deer, and last
• 'Twas a woman tattered and old.
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• The cloud s stooped low and the surf rose high;
• And where there was a line of the sky,
• The Wild wings loomed dark between.—

• And on a rock of the dark black beach-side,
• As the moon fell dim again
  Added TextBy the veiled moon dimly lit,
• There was something seemed to heave with life
• At the tread of the royal train
• As the King drew nigh to it.

• 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.

• And she met the woman held his eyes with her eyes and said:—
• 170“O King, thou art come at last;
• But thy wraith has haunted the Scotish Sea
• To my sight for four years past.

• “Four years it is since first I met,
• '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 fleet past pass in the breeze,
• With the cerecloth risen above thy feet
• 180And 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
• 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.

• “And when I meet thee again, O King,
• 190That of death hast such sore drouth,—
• Unless Except thou turn again on this shore,—
• The winding-sheet shall have moved once more
• And covered thine eyes and mouth.

• “O King, for whom poor folk men bless the for their King,
• Of thy fate be not so fain;
• But these my words for God's counsel message take,
• And turn thy steed, O King, for her sake
• Who rides beside thy rein!”

• While the woman spoke, the King's horse reared
• 200As 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,
• But the King gazed on her yet,
• And in silence save for the wail of the wind sea
• His eyes and her eyes met.

• At last he said:—“God's ways are His own;
• Man is but shadow and dust.
• Last night I prayed by His altar-stone;
• 210To-night I wend to the Feast of His Son;
• And in Him I set my trust.

• “I have held this poor for a my people in sacred charge,
• And have not feared the sting
• Of proud men's hate,—to His/God's His will resign'd
• There is Who has but one same death for a human hind
• And one same death for a human King.

• “And if God in His wisdom have brought close
• The day when I must die,
• That day by water or fire or air
• 220My 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,
• 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 passed on rode past,
• And moved nor limb nor eye;
• And when we were shipped, we saw her there
• 230Still 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,
• And I said, “ Doth the moon 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
• Of crime and woe which in Scotland's realm
• 240God'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,
• For solace and disport.

• 'Twas a wind-wild eve in February,
• And against the lattice casement-pane
• The branches smote like summoning hands
• And muttered the driving rain.

• And the Queen was there, more stately fair
• 250Than 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,
• 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,
• 260And 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
• Within whose leaves 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 his such bright cheer and courtesy
• 270 Such 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.

• And the King said, (for he thought to jest
• And soothe the Queen thereby;)—
• “ A rede have I read In a book 'tis writ that in this same year
• A King should shall in Scotland die.

• “And I have pondered the matter o'er,
• 280And this have I found, Sir Hugh,—
• There are but two Kings on Scotish ground,
• And those Kings are I and you.

• “And I have a wife and a young babe newborn heir,
• And you are yourself alone;
• And good it is that you stand up stark
  Added TextSo 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,
• 290Beneath 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.

• And I said, “My Liege, for the Queen's dear sake 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.”

• 300Then he smiled the smile I knew so well
• When he thought to please the Queen;
• The smile which under all bitter frowns
• Of fate that rose between,
• For ever dwelt at the poet's heart
• A Like the bird of love unseen.

• And he kissed the Queen her hand and took his harp,
• And the music sweetly rang;
• And when the song burst forth, it seemed
• 'Twas the nightingale that sang.

• 310 “Worship, ye lovers, on this May:
• Of bliss your kalends are begun:
• Sing with us, Away, Winter, away!
• Come, Summer, the sweet season & sun!
• Awake for shame,—your heaven is won,—
• 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
• 320And 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.

---

• 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
• 330Of 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,
• In guerdon of all my lovè'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.

• 340 “To reckon of all the circumstance
• As it happed when lessen gan my sore,
• Of my rancour and woful chance,
• It were too long,—I have done therefor.
• And of this flower I say no more
• But unto my help her heart hath tended
• And even from death her man defended.”

• “Aye, even from death,” to myself I thought said;
• And For I thought of the day when she
• Had brought borne him the news, at Roxbro' siege,
• 350Of 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
• 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.

• 360And 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
• 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,
• 370 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!”
• 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 the smile that shone from her life and eyes her smiling lips and her tear-bright eyes
• When As his arm went round her waist.

• 380And 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 joy love and pride
• He kissed her lips again full fain.

• And her fair true face was a rosy red,
• The very red of the rose
• That, couched on the happy garden-bed,
• In the summer sunlight glows.

• And all the wondrous things of love
• 390That 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.
• “The woman you met by the Scotish 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;
• 400To-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:
• “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,
• 410There 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
• 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,
• 420He had drawn out every bolt and bar
• That made the entrance fast.

• And now at midnight he stole his way
• To the moat of the outer wall,
• And closely he laid strong plamks hurdles closely across
• Where the traitors' tread should fall.

• But we that were the Queen's bower-maids
• Alone were left behind;
• And with heed we drew the curtains close
• Against the winter wind.

• 430And now that all was still through the hall,
• More clearly we heard the rain
• That clamoured ever against the glass
• And the boughs that beat on the pane.

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

• And the bed was dight in a deep alcove;
• 440And 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.

• But Love was weeping outside the house,
• A child in the piteous rain;
• 450And as he watched the arrow of Death,
• He wailed for his own shafts close in the sheath
• That never should fly again.

• And now beneath the window arose
• A wild voice suddenly:
• And the King reared straight, but the Queen fell back
• As for bitter dule to dree;
• And all of us knew the woman's voice
• Who spoke by the Scotish Sea.

• “O King,” she cried, “in an evil hour
• 460They drove me from thy gate;
• And yet my voice must rise to thine ears;
• But alas! it comes too late!

• “ Three nights agone Last night at mid-watch, by Aberdour,
• When the moon was dead in the skies,
• O King, in a death-light of its 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
• 470And covered thine eyes and mouth.

• “And no moon came 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.

• “Since then have I journeyed fast & fain
• In very despite of Fate,
• If 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,
• 480His 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;
• 490And not a soul that was there in that space but thought
• Of the fell foe Sir Robert Græme.

• Yea, from the country of the Wild Scots,
• O'er mountain, valley, and glen,
• 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 armour in all the room,
• Nor weapon lay to his hand.

• 500And all we women flew to the door
• And thought to have made it fast;
• But the bolts were gone & the bars were gone
• And the locks were riven and brast.

• And he caught the pale pale Queen in his arms
• As the iron footsteps fell,—
• Then loosed her, standing alone, and said,
• “ That Our bliss was our farewell!”

• And 'twixt his lips he murmured a prayer,
• And he crossed his brow and breast;
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• 510And proudly in royal hardihood
• Then with set teeth and clenched hands he stood
  Added TextEven 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 I felt the strength of a mighty man
• As wildly across the room I ran
• And reached her husband's side.

• And the iron tongs from the chimney-nook
• I snatched, nor my hand did shake,
• 520But a the plank of the room at my feet I wrenched & tore;
• And pointed down through the open floor,
• And said, “My Liege, or her sake!”

• And he looked to the Queen, and then he came
• For her hands were clasped in prayer.
• And down he sprang to the inner crypt;
• And straight I closed the plank I had ripp'd
• And strewed spread the rushes there.

• (Alas! in that vault a gap once was
• Wherethro' the King might have fled:
• 530But three days since close-walled had it been
• By his will; for the ball would roll therein
• When without at the palm he play'd.)

• And louder ever the voices grew,
• And the tramp of men in mail;
• Until to my brain it seemed to be
• As though we I tossed on a ship at sea
• In the teeth of a crashing gale.

• Then back I flew to the rest; and we and hard
• All We strove with sinews knit
• 540To drag force the table against the door;
• But we might not compass it.

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

• Like iron felt my arm, as through
• The chain staple I made it pass:—
• Alack! it was flesh and bone—no more!
• 550'Twas 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
• Was a crowd of raging men.

• Behind the door I had fall'n and lay,
• Yet my sense was wildly aware,
• And despite for all the pain of my shattered arm
• I never fainted there.

• 560And under the litters and through the bed
• And within the presses all
• They sought in vain for the King, & pierced
• The arras around the wall.

• And through the chamber they stamped & stormed
• Like lions loose in the lair,
• And scarce could trust to their very eyes,—
• For behold! no King was there.

• Then one of them seized the Queen, & cried,—
• “Now tell us, where is thy lord?”
• 570And he held the sharp point close to her heart over her heart:
• Added TextShe drooped not her eyes nor did she start,
• But she answered never a word.

• With that Then the sword grazed half pierced the true true breast:
• But Sir Robert Graham's it was the Græme's own son
• Cried/Said Cried, “This is a woman,—we seek a man!”
• And that foul deed was not done.

• And forth flowed all the throng like the a sea,
• And 'twas empty space once more;
• And I turned my eyes to sought out the wounded Queen
• 580As I lay behind the door.

• And I said: “Dear Lady, leave me here,
• For I cannot help you now;
• But fly while you may, and none shall reck
• Of my place here lying low.”

• And she said, “My Catherine, God help thee!”
• Then she looked to the distant floor,
• And clasping her hands, “O God help him, ” '
• She said sobbed, “for we can no more!”

• But God He knows what help may mean,
• 590If it mean to live or to die;
• And what great sore sorrow and what sore mighty moan
• On earth it may ? cost ere yet a throne
• Be reached filled in h His house on high.

• And now the ladies fled with the Queen;
• And thorough the open door
• The night-wind wailed round the empty room
• And the rushes shook on the floor.

• And the bed stood stript drooped low in the deep dark recess
• Whence the arras was rent away;
• 600And the firelight still shone over the space
• Where our hidden secret lay.

• And the rain had ceased, and the moonbeams lit
• The window high in the wall,—
• Bright beams that on the plank that I knew
• Through the painted pane did fall
• And glowed gleamed with the splendour of Scotland's crown
• And shield armorial.

• But then a great wind swept up the skies,
• And the climbing moon fell back;
• 610And high in the darkened window-pane
• The shield and the crown were black.

• And what I say next I partly heard saw
• And partly I saw heard in sooth,
• And partly since from the murderers' lips
• The torture wrung the truth.

• For now again came the armèd tread,
• And fast through the hall it fell;
• But the throng was less; and ere I saw,
• By the voice without I could tell
• 620That Robert Stuart had come with them
• Who knew that chamber well.

• And over the space the Græme strode dark
• With his mantle round him flung;
• And in his eye was a flaming light
• But not a word on his tongue.

• And Stuart held a torch to the floor,
• And he found the thing he sought;
• And they wrenched slashed the plank away with their swords;
• And O God! I fainted not!

• 630And the traitor held his torch in the gap,
• All smoking and smouldering;
• And through the vapour and fire, beneath
• In the dark crypt's narrow ring,
• With a shout that pealed to the room's high roof
• They saw their naked King.

• All Half naked he stood, but stood as one
• Who yet could do and dare:
• With the crown, the King was stript away,—
• The Knight was reft of his battle-array,—
• 640But still the Man was there.

• There was a villain among that rout,—
  Added TextFrom the rout then stepped a villain forth,—
• Sir John Hall was his name;
• With a crooked knife unsheathed he leap ed t to the vault
• Beneath the torchlight-flame.

• Of his person and stature was the King
• A man right manly strong,
• And mightily by the shoulder-blades
• His foe with to his feet he flung.

• Then the traitor's brother, Sir Rob Thomas Hall,
• 650Sprang down to work his worst;
• And the King caught the second man by the neck
• 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.

• And sore he strove to have had their knives,
• But the sharp blades gashed his hands.
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Added Text
• (Now shame on the recreant traitor's heart
• Who dared durst not face his King
• Till the body unarmed was wearied out
• With twofold combating!
• Ah! well might the people sing and say,
• As oft ye have heard aright:—
• “ O Robert Græme, O Robert Græme,
• Who slew our King, God give thee shame!”
• For he slew him not as a knight.)
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Printer's Direction: Green
Editorial Description: Compositor's name written in upper left corner
• Oh James! so armed, thou hadst battled there
• 660Till the help that had c a ome of thy bands;
• And oh! once more thou hadst held our throne
• And ruled thy Scotish lands!

• But while the King o'er his foes still raged
• With a heart that nought could tame,
• Another man sprang down to the crypt;
• And with his sword in his hand hard-gripp'd,
• There stood Sir Robert Græme.

• And the naked King turned round at bay,
• But his strength had passed the goal,
• 670And he could but gasp:—“Mine hour is come;
• But oh! to succour thine own soul's doom,
• Let a priest now shrive my soul!”

• And the traitor looked on the King's spent strength,
• And said:—“Have I kept my word?—
• Yea, King, the mortal pledge that I gave?
• No black friar's shrift thy soul shall have,
• But the shrift of this red sword!”

• With that he smote his King through the breast;
• And all they three in that pen
• 680Fell on him and stabbed and stabbed him o'er and o'er there
• Like merciless murderous men.

• Yet is it said 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!”

• 690O God! what more did I hear or see,
• Or how should I tell the rest?
• But there at length did the our King lie lay slain
• With sixteen wounds in his breast.

• And now too late O God! and now did a bell boom forth,
• And the murderers turned and fled;—
• Added TextToo late, too late, O God, did it sound!—
• And I heard the true men mustering round,
• And the cries and the coming tread.

• And now, ye Scotish maids who have heard
• 700Dread things to hear & behold,—
• Even at the last, of true Queen Jane
• May somewhat yet be told,
• And how she dealt for her dear lord's sake
• Dire vengeance manifold.

• 'Twas in the Charterhouse of Perth,
• In the royal high Chapelle fair-lit Death-chapelle,
• That the slain King's fair corpse on bier was laid
• With chaunt and requiem-knell.

• And by the balm of spices sweet all with royal wealth of balm
• 710Was the body purified;
• And none could trace on the brow and lips
• The death that he had died.

• In his robes of state he lay asleep
• With orb and sceptre in hand;
• And by the crown he wore on his throne
• Was his kingly forehead spann'd.

• And, girls, 'twas a goodly sight sweet sad thing to see
• How the curling golden hair,
• As in the day of the poet's youth,
• 720From the King's crown clustered there.

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

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

• 730And I had got good help of my hurt:
• And only to me some sign
• She made; and save the priests that were there,
• No face would she see but mine.

• And the month of March wore on apace;
• And now fresh couriers fared
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Manuscript Addition: 40
Editorial Description: Pagination number by DGR
• Still from the country of the Wild Scots
• With news of the traitors snared.

• And still as I told her day by day,
• Her pallor changed to sight,
• 740And 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 into his ear with teeth close set 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
• 750 I feared that she could not live.

• And the month of March wore nigh to its end,
• And still was the death-pall spread;
• For she would not bury her slaughtered lord
• Till his slayers all were dead.

• And But when news came of I told her the bitter end
• Of the stern and just award,
• She bent leaned o'er the bier, and thrice three times
• She kissed the lips of her lord.

• And then she said,—“ O James My King, they are dead!”
• And she knelt on the chapel-floor,
• And whispered low with a strange proud smile,—
• 760“James, James, they suffered more!”

• Last she stood up to her queenly height,
• But she shook like an autumn leaf,
• As though the fire wherein she burned
• Then left her body, and all were turned
• To winter of life-long grief.

• And “O James!” she said,—“My James!” she said,—
• “Alas for the woful thing,
• That a poet true and a friend of man,
• In desperate days of bale and ban,
• 770Should needs be born a King!”

---

D G Rossetti 20 ^th Feb. 1881    

• 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 murder's stroke may must hide!”

• “For her sake most!” I cried, and I said
• How his true heart felt the sting.
• And the iron tongs from the chimney-nook
• 10I snatched and held to the King:—
• “Wrench up the plank! and the vault beneath
• Shall yield safe harbouring.”

• With brows low-bent, from my eager hand
• The heavy heft did he take;
• And the plank at his feet he wrenched & tore;
• And as he frowned through the open floor,
• Again I said, “For her sake!”

• Then he cried to the Queen, “God's will be done!”
• For her hands were clasped in prayer.
• 20And down he sprang to the inner crypt;
• And straight we closed the plank he had ripp'd
• And toiled to smoothe it fair.

• (Alas! in that vault a gap once was
• Wherethro' 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 play'd.)

• Then the Queen cried, “Catherine, keep the door,
• And I to this will suffice!”
• 30At thi 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.

• Then back I flew to the rest; and hard
• We strove with sinews knit
• To force the table against the door;
• 40But we might not compass it.

• And my wild gaze sped far down the hall
• To the place of the hearthstone-sill;
• And the Queen bent ever above the plank floor,
• For the edge 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.

• 50Like iron felt my arm, as through
• The staple I made it pass:—
• Alack! it was flesh and bone—no more!
• 'Twas 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
• Was a crowd of wrathful men.

• Behind the door I had fall'n and lay,
• 60Yet my sense was wildly aware,
• And for all the pain of my shattered arm
• I never fainted there.

• But my glance Even as I fell, was thither sent my glance eyes were cast
• Where the King leaped down to the pit;
• And lo! the plank was smooth in its place,
• And the Queen stood calm/well calm by it.

• And under the litters and through the bed
• And within the presses all
• The traitors sought for the King, and pierced
• 70The arras around the wall.

   

• And now, ye Scotish maids who have heard
• The tale I could unfold Dread things to hear and behold,—
• Even at the last, of true Queen Jane
• Some words m May somewhat yet be told,
• And how she dealt for her dear lord's sake
• Dire vengeance manifold.

• 'Twas in the Charterhouse of Perth,
• In the saintly royal high Chapelle,
• That the King's fair corpse on bier was laid in state
• 10With chaunt and requiem- bell knell.

• And all embalmed with with by the balm of spices sweet
• Was the body purified;
• And none could trace on the brow & lips
• The death that he had died.

• And In his regal robes of state he lay asleep
• With orb and sceptre in hand;
• And by the crown he wore on his throne
• Was his kingly forehead spann'd.

• And, girls, 'twas a goodly sight to see
• 20How 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,
• Then Scots had said in the days to come
• That this their soil was a different home
• And a different Scotland, girls!

• And the Queen sat by him night & day,
• And oft she knelt in prayer,
• 30All 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 alone made she some sign
• She made; and And save the priests that were round the bier there,
• No face would she see but mine.

• And every morn and eve I brought
• To her arms her little son,
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Manuscript Addition: 3
Editorial Description: Pagination number by DGR
• And once she murmured under her breath,—
• “My God! he must he mount a throne?”

• And the month of March wore on apace;
• And now fresh couriers fared
• Still from the country of the Wild Scots
• With news of the traitors snared.

• And still as I told her day by day,
• Her pallor changed to sight,
• 50And 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 into his ear with teeth close set
• 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
• 60 I feared that she could not live.

• And the month of March wore nigh to its end,
• And still was the death-pall spread;
• For she would not bury her slaughtered lord
• Till his slayers all were dead.

• And now of their dooms dread tidings came,
• And of tortures dire fierce and dire;
• And nought she spake,—she had ceased to speak,—
• But her eyes were a soul on fire.

• But And when the news came of the bitter end
• 80Of the dread stern and just award,
• She bent o'er the bier, and thrice three times
• She kissed the lips of her lord.

• And well then she said,—“O James, they are dead!”
• And then she knelt on the chapel floor,
• And whispered low with a strange proud smile,—
• “James, James, they suffered more!”

• Last she stood up to her queenly height,
• But she shook like an autumn leaf,
• As if the fire wherein she burned
• 90Then left her body, and all were turned
• To winter of lifelong grief.

• Like iron I felt my arm, as through
• The groove I made it pass.
• Alack! it was brittle bone—no more:
• Twas Catherine Douglas sprang to the door
• And I fell down Kate Barlass.

---