And that Fate might win sure way from afar,

He 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 laid strong hurdles closely across
Where the traitors' tread should fall.

But we that were the Queen's bowermaids

Alone were left behind;

And with heed we drew the curtains close

Against the winter wind.

And now that all was still through the hall,

More clearly we heard the rain That clamored 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 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;
And 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;

And 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 Scottish Sea.

"O King," she cried, "in an evil hour They drove me from thy gate;

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 ;
And not a soul in that space but thought
Of the 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 armed men.

The King knew all in an instant's flash
And like a King did he stand;
But there was no armor in all the room
Nor weapon lay to his hand.

And all we women flew to the door

And thought to have made it fast:

But the bolts were gone and the bars were gone

And the locks were riven and brast.

And he caught the pale queen in his

arms

As the iron footsteps fell.—

Then loosed her, standing alone, and said.

"Our bliss was our farewell!"

And 'twixt his lips he murmured a

prayer,

And he crossed his brow and breast; And proudly in royal hardihood Even so with folded arms he stood,-The prize of the bloody quest.

Then on me leaped the Queen like a deer:

"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 treasonous death must hide!"

For her sake most!" I cried, and I marked

The pang that my words would wring. ind the iron tongs from the chimneynook

I snatched and held to the King:Wrench up the plank! and the vault

beneath

Shall yield safe harboring."

Vith brows low-bent, from my eager hand

The heavy heft did he take;

and the plank at his feet he wrenched

and tore;

ind as he frowned through the open floor, Again I said,

For her sake!"

Then the Queen cried, “* Catherine, keep the door,

And I to this will suffice!"

At 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;
But we might not compass it.

Then my wild gaze sped far down the hall

To the place of the hearthstone-sill: And the Queen bent ever above the floor,

For the 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!

Like iron felt my arm, as through The staple I made it pass :Alack! it was flesh and bone-no more! "T was 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,

Yet my sense was wildly 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.

Than one of them seized the Queen, and cried,

"Now tell us, where is thy lord?" And he held the sharp point over her heart: [start, She drooped not her eyes nor did she But she answered never a word.

Then the sword half pierced the true true breast:

But it was the Græme'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 space 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, God help thee!"

Then she looked to the distant floor, And clasping her hands, "Oh God help him,"

She sobbed," for we can no more!"
But God 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
on the floor.

And the traitor held his torch in the gap.
All smoking and smouldering;
And through the vapor 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:

Of his person and stature was the King
A man right manly strong,
And mightily by the shoulder-blades
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 Scottish 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 hardgripp'd

There stood Sir Robert Græme.

(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 Græme, O Robert Græme,

Who slew our King, God give thee shame!"

For he slew him not as a knight.)

And the naked King turned round at bay, But his strength had passed the goal, And he could but gasp:-" Mine hour is come;

But oh! to succor 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 save, But the shrift of this red sword!"

With that he smote his King through the breast;

And all they three in that pen Fell on him and stabbed and stabbed him there

Like merciless murderous men.

Yet 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 !"

O God! 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 God! and now did a bell boom forth, And the murderers turned and fled ;Too late, too late, O God, 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 deathgap

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 Scottish 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 lain

With chant 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 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 and day,
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.

And still as I told her day by day, Her pallor changed to sight,

And 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 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 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 torments fierce and dire: And nought she spake,—she had ceased to speak.

But her eyes were a soul on fire. But when I told her the bitter end Of the stern and just award, She leaned o'er the bier, and thrice three times

She kissed the lips of her lord.

And then she said," My King, they are dead!"

And 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 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 hale and ban,

Should needs be born a King!" 1881.