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

Even as I fell, my eyes were cast Where the King leaped down to the pit; And lo! the plank was smooth in its place, And the Queen stood far from it.

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

And through the chamber they ramped and 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, and cried, "Now tells us, where is thy lord?"

And he held the sharp point over her heart: She drooped not her eyes nor did she start, But she answered never a word.

Then the sword half pierced the true true breast: But it was the Graeme's own son Cried, "This is a woman--we seek a man!"

And away from her girdle-zone He struck the point of the murderous steel; And that foul deed was not done.

And forth flowed all the throng like a sea, And 't was empty s.p.a.ce once more; And my eyes sought out the wounded Queen As 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, G.o.d help thee!"

Then she looked to the distant floor, And clapsing her hands, "O G.o.d help _him_,"

She sobbed, "for we can no more!"

But G.o.d He knows what help may mean, If it mean to live or to die; And what sore sorrow and mighty moan On earth it may cost ere yet a throne Be filled in His house on high.

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

And the bed drooped low in the dark recess Whence the arras was rent away; And the firelight still shone over the s.p.a.ce 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 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; And the royal blazon fled from the floor, And naught remained on its track; And high in the darkened window-pane The shield and the crown were black.

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

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

And over the s.p.a.ce the Graeme 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 slashed the plank away with their swords And O G.o.d! I fainted not!

And 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.

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-- But still the Man was there.

From the rout then stepped a villain forth-- Sir John Hall was his name: With a knife unsheathed he leapt to the vault Beneath the torchlight-flame.

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

Then the traitor's brother, Sir Thomas Hall, Sprang 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.

Oh James! so armed, thou hadst battled there Till help had come 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 naught could tame, Another man sprange down to the crypt; And with his sword in his hand hard-gripp'd, There stood Sir Robert Graeme.

(Now shame on the recreant traitor's heart Who durst not face his King Till the body unarmed was wearied out With two-fold combating!

Ah! well might the people sing and say, As oft ye have heard aright: "_O Robert Graeme, O Robert Graeme, Who slew our King, G.o.d give thee shame!_"

For he slew him not as a knight.)

And the naked King turned round at bay, But his strength had pa.s.sed the goal, And 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 the pen Fell on him and stabbed and stabbed him there Like merciless murderous men

Yet seemed it now that Sir Robert Graeme, 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!"

O G.o.d! what more did I hear or see, Or how should I tell the rest?

But there at length our King lay slain With sixteen wounds in his breast.

O G.o.d! and now did a bell boom forth, And the murderers turned and fled; Too late, too late, O G.o.d, did it sound!

And I heard the true men mustering round, And the cries and the coming tread.

But ere they came, to the black death-gap Somewise did I creep and steal; And lo! or ever I swooned away, Through the dusk I saw where the white face lay In the Pit of Fortune's Wheel.

And now, ye Scotish maids who have heard Dread things of the days grown old-- 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.

'T was in the Charterhouse of Perth, In the fair-lit Death-chapelle, That the slain King's corpse on bier was laid With chaunt and requiem-knell.

And all with royal wealth of balm Was 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, 't was a sweet sad thing to see How the curling golden hair, As in the day of the poet's youth, From the King's crown cl.u.s.tered there.

And if all had come to pa.s.s 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 and days And oft she knelt in prayer, All 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 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 Still from the country of the Wild Scots With news of the traitors snared.