XX.
The Douglas, who had bent his way From Cambus-kenneth's abbey gray, Now, as he climbed the rocky shelf, Held sad communion with himself:-- 'Yes! all is true my fears could frame; A prisoner lies the noble Graeme, And fiery Roderick soon will feel The vengeance of the royal steel. I, only I, can ward their fate,-- God grant the ransom come not late! The Abbess hath her promise given, My child shall be the bride of Heaven;-- Be pardoned one repining tear! For He who gave her knows how dear, How excellent!--but that is by, And now my business is--to die.-- Ye towers! within whose circuit dread A Douglas by his sovereign bled; And thou, O sad and fatal mound! That oft hast heard the death-axe sound. As on the noblest of the land Fell the stern headsmen's bloody hand,-- The dungeon, block, and nameless tomb Prepare--for Douglas seeks his doom! But hark! what blithe and jolly peal Makes the Franciscan steeple reel? And see! upon the crowded street, In motley groups what masquers meet! Banner and pageant, pipe and drum, And merry morrice-dancers come. I guess, by all this quaint array, The burghers hold their sports to-day. James will be there; he loves such show, Where the good yeoman bends his bow, And the tough wrestler foils his foe, As well as where, in proud career, The high-born filter shivers spear. I'll follow to the Castle-park, And play my prize;--King James shall mark If age has tamed these sinews stark, Whose force so oft in happier days His boyish wonder loved to praise.'
XXI.
The Castle gates were open flung, The quivering drawbridge rocked and rung, And echoed loud the flinty street Beneath the coursers' clattering feet, As slowly down the steep descent Fair Scotland's King and nobles went, While all along the crowded way Was jubilee and loud huzza. And ever James was bending low To his white jennet's saddle-bow, Doffing his cap to city dame, Who smiled and blushed for pride and shame. And well the simperer might be vain,-- He chose the fairest of the train. Gravely he greets each city sire, Commends each pageant's quaint attire, Gives to the dancers thanks aloud, And smiles and nods upon the crowd, Who rend the heavens with their acclaims,-- 'Long live the Commons' King, King James!' Behind the King thronged peer and knight, And noble dame and damsel bright, Whose fiery steeds ill brooked the stay Of the steep street and crowded way. But in the train you might discern Dark lowering brow and visage stern; There nobles mourned their pride restrained, And the mean burgher's joys disdained; And chiefs, who, hostage for their clan, Were each from home a banished man, There thought upon their own gray tower, Their waving woods, their feudal power, And deemed themselves a shameful part Of pageant which they cursed in heart.
XXII.
Now, in the Castle-park, drew out Their checkered bands the joyous rout. There morricers, with bell at heel And blade in hand, their mazes wheel; But chief, beside the butts, there stand Bold Robin Hood and all his band,-- Friar Tuck with quarterstaff and cowl, Old Scathelocke with his surly scowl, Maid Marian, fair as ivory bone, Scarlet, and Mutch, and Little John; Their bugles challenge all that will, In archery to prove their skill. The Douglas bent a bow of might,-- His first shaft centred in the white, And when in turn he shot again, His second split the first in twain. From the King's hand must Douglas take A silver dart, the archers' stake; Fondly he watched, with watery eye, Some answering glance of sympathy,-- No kind emotion made reply! Indifferent as to archer wight, The monarch gave the arrow bright.
XXIII.
Now, clear the ring! for, hand to hand, The manly wrestlers take their stand. Two o'er the rest superior rose, And proud demanded mightier foes,-- Nor called in vain, for Douglas came.-- For life is Hugh of Larbert lame; Scarce better John of Alloa's fare, Whom senseless home his comrades bare. Prize of the wrestling match, the King To Douglas gave a golden ring, While coldly glanced his eye of blue, As frozen drop of wintry dew. Douglas would speak, but in his breast His struggling soul his words suppressed; Indignant then he turned him where Their arms the brawny yeomen bare, To hurl the massive bar in air. When each his utmost strength had shown, The Douglas rent an earth-fast stone From its deep bed, then heaved it high, And sent the fragment through the sky A rood beyond the farthest mark; And still in Stirling's royal park, The gray-haired sires, who know the past, To strangers point the Douglas cast, And moralize on the decay Of Scottish strength in modern day.
XXIV.
The vale with loud applauses rang, The Ladies' Rock sent back the clang. The King, with look unmoved, bestowed A purse well filled with pieces broad. Indignant smiled the Douglas proud, And threw the gold among the crowd, Who now with anxious wonder scan, And sharper glance, the dark gray man; Till whispers rose among the throng, That heart so free, and hand so strong, Must to the Douglas blood belong. The old men marked and shook the head, To see his hair with silver spread, And winked aside, and told each son Of feats upon the English done, Ere Douglas of the stalwart hand Was exiled from his native land. The women praised his stately form, Though wrecked by many a winter's storm; The youth with awe and wonder saw His strength surpassing Nature's law. Thus judged, as is their wont, the crowd Till murmurs rose to clamours loud. But not a glance from that proud ring Of peers who circled round the King With Douglas held communion kind, Or called the banished man to mind; No, not from those who at the chase Once held his side the honoured place, Begirt his board, and in the field Found safety underneath his shield; For he whom royal eyes disown, When was his form to courtiers known!
XXV.
The Monarch saw the gambols flag And bade let loose a gallant stag, Whose pride, the holiday to crown, Two favorite greyhounds should pull down, That venison free and Bourdeaux wine Might serve the archery to dine. But Lufra,--whom from Douglas' side Nor bribe nor threat could e'er divide, The fleetest hound in all the North,-- Brave Lufra saw, and darted forth. She left the royal hounds midway, And dashing on the antlered prey, Sunk her sharp muzzle in his flank, And deep the flowing life-blood drank. The King's stout huntsman saw the sport By strange intruder broken short, Came up, and with his leash unbound In anger struck the noble hound. The Douglas had endured, that morn, The King's cold look, the nobles' scorn, And last, and worst to spirit proud, Had borne the pity of the crowd; But Lufra had been fondly bred, To share his board, to watch his bed, And oft would Ellen Lufra's neck In maiden glee with garlands deck; They were such playmates that with name Of Lufra Ellen's image came. His stifled wrath is brimming high, In darkened brow and flashing eye; As waves before the bark divide, The crowd gave way before his stride; Needs but a buffet and no more, The groom lies senseless in his gore. Such blow no other hand could deal, Though gauntleted in glove of steel.
XXVI.
Then clamored loud the royal train, And brandished swords and staves amain, But stern the Baron's warning: 'Back! Back, on your lives, ye menial pack! Beware the Douglas.--Yes! behold, King James! The Douglas, doomed of old, And vainly sought for near and far, A victim to atone the war, A willing victim, now attends, Nor craves thy grace but for his friends.--' 'Thus is my clemency repaid? Presumptuous Lord!' the Monarch said: 'Of thy misproud ambitious clan, Thou, James of Bothwell, wert the man, The only man, in whom a foe My woman-mercy would not know; But shall a Monarch's presence brook Injurious blow and haughty look?-- What ho! the Captain of our Guard! Give the offender fitting ward.-- Break off the sports!'--for tumult rose, And yeomen 'gan to bend their bows, 'Break off the sports!' he said and frowned, 'And bid our horsemen clear the ground.'