'T was then the moon sailed clear of the rack On high in her hollow dome; And still as aloft with h.o.a.ry crest Each clamorous wave rang home, Like fire in snow the moonlight blazed Amid the champing foam.

And the woman held his eyes with her eyes: "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 pa.s.s in the breeze, With the cerecloth risen above thy feet And wound about thy knees.

"And yet a year, in the Links of Forth, As a wanderer without rest, Thou cam'st with both thine arms i' the shroud 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 pa.s.sed thy breast And risen around thy throat.

"And when I meet thee again, O King, That of death hast such sore drouth, Except thou turn again on this sh.o.r.e, The winding-sheet shall have moved once more And covered thine eyes and mouth.

"O King, whom poor men bless for their King, Of thy fate be not so fain; But these my words for G.o.d's 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 As if it would breast the sea, And the Queen turned pale as she heard on the gale The voice die dolorously.

When the woman ceased, the steed was still, But the King gazed on her yet, And in silence save for the wail of the sea His eyes and her eyes met.

At last he said: "G.o.d's ways are His own; Man is but shadow and dust.

Last night I prayed by His altar-stone; To-night I wend to the Feast of His Son; And in Him I set my trust.

"I have held my people in sacred charge, And have not feared the sting Of proud men's hate, to His will resign'd Who has but one same death for a hind And one same death for a King.

"And if G.o.d in His wisdom have brought close The day when I must die, That day by water or fire or air My feet shall fall in the destined snare Wherever my road may lie.

"What man can say but the Fiend hath set Thy sorcery on my path, My heart with the fear of death to fill, And turn me against G.o.d's very will To sink in His burning wrath?"

The woman stood as the train rode past, And moved nor limb nor eye; And when we were shipped, we saw her there Still standing against the sky.

As the ship made way, the moon once more Sank slow in her rising pall; And I thought of the shrouded wraith of the King, And I said, "The Heavens know all."

And now, ye la.s.ses, must ye hear How my name is Kate Barla.s.s: But a little thing, when all the tale Is told of the weary ma.s.s Of crime and woe which in Scotland's realm G.o.d's will let come to pa.s.s.

'T was in the Charterhouse of Perth That the King and all his Court Were met, the Christmas Feast being done, For solace and disport.

'T was a wind-wild eve in February, And against the cas.e.m.e.nt-pane The branches smote like summoning hands And muttered the driving rain.

And when the wind swooped over the lift And made the whole heaven frown, It seemed a grip was laid on the walls To tug the housetop down.

And the Queen was there, more stately fair Than a lily in garden set; And the King was loth to stir from her side; For as on the day when she was his bride, Even so he loved her yet.

And the Earl of Athole, the King's false friend, 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, And vainly four times that night he strove To reach the King through the hall.

But the wine is bright at the goblet's brim Though the poison lurk beneath; And the apples still are red on the tree Within whose shade may the adder be That shall turn thy life to death.

There was a knight of the King's fast friends Whom he called the King of Love; And to such bright cheer and courtesy 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), "In a book 'tis writ that this same year A King shall in Scotland die.

"And I have pondered the matter o'er, And 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 newborn heir, And you are yourself alone; So stand you stark at my side with me To guard our double throne."

"For here sit I and my wife and child, As well your heart shall approve, In full surrender and soothfastness, Beneath your Kingdom of Love."

And the Knight laughed, and the Queen, too, smiled; But I knew her heavy thought, And I strove to find in the good King's jest What cheer might thence be wrought.

And I said, "My Liege, for the Queen's dear love Now sing the song that of old You made, when a captive Prince you lay, And the nightingale sang sweet on the spray, In Windsor's castle-hold."

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

And he kissed her hand and took his harp, And the music sweetly rang; And when the song burst forth, it seemed 'T was the nightingale that sang.

"_Worship, ye lovers, on this May: Of bliss your kalends are begun: Sing with us, Away, Winter, away!

Come, Summer, the sweet season and sun!

Awake for shame, your heaven is won, 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 And the voice of the bygone years.

"_The fairest and the freshest flower That ever I saw before that hour, The which o' the sudden made to start The blood of my body to my heart._

_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 Of minstrel ministerings; But when he spoke of the Queen at the last, Its strings were his own heart-strings.

"_Unworthy but only of her grace, Upon Love's rock that's easy and sure, In guerdon of all my love's s.p.a.ce She took me her humble creature.

Thus fell my blissful aventure In youth of love that from day to day Flowereth aye new, and further, I say._

"_To reck all the circ.u.mstance As it happed when lessen gan my sore, Of my rancor and woeful 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._"

"Ay, even from death," to myself I said; For I thought of the day when she Had borne him the news, at Roxbro' siege, Of the fell confederacy.

But death even then took aim as he sang With an arrow deadly bright; And the grinning skull lurked grimly aloof, And the wings were spread far over the roof 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.

And oft have I heard again in dreams The voice of dire appeal In which the King sang of the pit That is under Fortune's wheel.

"_And under the wheel beheld I there An ugly Pit as deep as h.e.l.l, 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, 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 travail To come, well might'st thou weep and wail!_"