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'There will I ask of Christ the Lord
Thus much for him and me:—
To have more blessing than on earth
In nowise; but to be

As then we were,—being as then
At peace. Yea, verily.

'Yea, verily; when he is come
We will do thus and thus:

Till this my vigil seem quite strange
And almost fabulous;

We two will live at once, one life;
And peace shall be with us.'

She gazed, and listen'd, and then said,

Less sad of speech than mild,— 'All this is when he comes.'

She ceased:

The light thrill'd past her, fill'd
With Angels, in strong level lapse.
Her eyes pray'd, and she smiled.

(I saw her smile.) But soon their flight
Was vague 'mid the poised spheres.
And then she cast her arms along

The golden barriers,

And laid her face between her hands,
And wept. (I heard her tears.)

THE KING'S TRAGEDY

James I of Scots.—20th February, 1437

I Catherine am a Douglas born,

A name to all Scots dear;

And Kate Barlass they've called me now
Through many 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

It has shone most white and fair;

It has been the rest for a true lord's head,
And many a sweet babe's nursing-bed,
And the bar to a King's chambere.

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,

By 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.

I' the Bass Rock fort, by his father's care,
Was his childhood's life assured;
And Henry the subtle Bolingbroke,
Proud England's King, 'neath the southron yoke
His 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.

And 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 still through his crownless years
His Scottish realm had been,

At Scone were the happy lovers crowned,
A heart-wed King and Queen.

But the bird may fall from the bough of youth,

And song be turned 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,

Might find on the earth no truer hearts
His lowliest swains among.

From the days when first she rode abroad
With Scottish 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 waned, the loving and toiling years:
Till England's wrong renewed

Drove James, by outrage cast on his crown,
To the open field of 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,

In 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 Scottish people's love
You shall sit as under your shield."

At the fair Queen's side I stood that day
When he bade them raise the siege,
And back to his Court he sped to 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
Through 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 likewise you pledged your oath
Their faithful sire to be:-

"Yet all we here that are nobly sprung Have mourned dear kith and kin

Since first for the Scottish 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:—"Thou speak'st but for one Estate,
Nor doth it avow thy gage.

Let my liege lords hale this traitor hence!"
The 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':—

"No Liege of mine thou art; but I see
From 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

A solemn festival.

And we of his household rode with him
In a close-ranked company;

But not till the sun had sunk from his throne
Did we reach the Scottish Sea.