Delphi Complete Poetical Works of Algernon Charles Swinburne (Illustrated) (Delphi Poets Series)

by Algernon Charles Swinburne

Freely, with reverence and humility,

  My thought as did that letter, being of mind

  At one therewith; but she would give no ear;

  Nor is there force in counsel or man’s wit

  To avert this ill she binds upon herself,

  Who breaks the bonds in twain that hold her friends,

  And fetters her own feet with gyves of steel,

  When she hath need of them to stand or flee

  Before the face of peril multiform

  That lightens on us flamelike: you, my lord,

  Whose love she hath proven, are not of me to learn

  The immediate feature of it.

  HERRIES.

  Alas, not I;

  I have taken too much note thereof, and stand

  Too near its fangs to live of them unscathed,

  Except I make haste hence.

  MELVILLE.

  What haste, my lord?

  HERRIES.

  I have spoken with her of their purpose blown

  From lip to lip already on men’s breath,

  To loose the bonds that bind her lover yet

  By witness of the lady of Buccleuch,

  Who shall proclaim herself his paramour

  And precontracted to him by promise-plight,

  To prove his wife no lawful wife, but bound,

  Will she or no, and love him not or love,

  To sue divorce from him; if all this fail,

  Then by remonstrance of their kindred blood

  Found some four cousinships away, this bond

  Shall melt or break that parts him from the queen.

  MELVILLE.

  Why, ere his marriage with the Lady Jane

  She had her dispensation from the Pope,

  For the blood mixed between them, of all bars

  Which might have maimed it with impediment.

  HERRIES.

  So had she, but they think to cover it

  As with a veil of invalidity

  Pretexted for pretence, or with dumb show

  Darkly disclaimed; this shall not cumber them;

  And they will buy compliance and goodwill

  Of Huntley to his sister’s putting off

  By restoration of his forfeit lands.

  MELVILLE.

  All tongues i’ the land will as one mouth of fire

  Cry death and shame against it.

  HERRIES.

  So said I.

  MELVILLE.

  So said you to her?

  HERRIES.

  I said so; whereat she,

  As ‘twere half smiling in a wondering shame,

  Half mourning to be guiltlessly misjudged,

  With fervent eyes’ fall and with scornful lips

  Protests me, never had she thought of it.

  Wherefore I hold it ill to tarry here.

  MELVILLE.

  Your wisdom shall do well to spare no speed,

  But get it gone from eyeshot of them both.

  HERRIES.

  I know it; yet would I plead again with her

  For pity and honour of the imperilled state,

  That should be shaken with her fall to death

  And the crown shattered into shards of gold

  For as a wolf anhungered and awaked

  That long hath slept and starved, with foodless dreams

  Assuaging its blunt fangs through bloodless hours,

  The common people, that in dumb dim rest,

  With heartless hopes assuaging its blind heart,

  Hath fed for ages on itself asleep,

  Shows now the keen teeth and the kindled eyes

  Of ravening heads innumerable, that gape

  And glare about the wide ways of the world,

  Seeking their meat of God; and if he fail,

  Then of the devil that burns in minds of men

  Rebellious, whom their heat of heart eats up

  Till the fire fasten on authority

  To lay red hands of ruin on all state

  And leave in ashes empire; as of late

  This Ket in England, and his like that swarm

  At heel of the new creeds in Lutheran lands

  To pluck the sun out of the heaven of rule,

  And leave men dark and kingless. Hath not Knox

  Struck with his fangs of speech on monarchy

  No less than on the Church that first was stung,

  Preaching for all men knowledge equally

  And prostitute and perilous freedom shared

  With all blear eyes, brute mouths, and unwashed hands,

  That lust for change and take all fires for light,

  Except the sun’s wherein their fathers walked?

  And shall not these at any breach break in

  That flaws the sea-wall which forbade their sea

  To drown all banks that bound it? She will make

  Of all that lived in Scotland hers and ours

  A ruin and republic of strewn wrecks,

  Ranks rent, bonds broken, all things orderless,

  A commonwealth of dead men’s bones and dung,

  Dust, mire, and blood, and one red rank of beasts

  That rage and revel in equality.

  MELVILLE.

  ’Tis true, the commons are as waters chafed

  Since this wind blew amongst them: wave by wave

  It lifts their heads up, and the murmuring air

  Breathes hard and blackens with the blast of change.

  HERRIES.

  And were none touched with danger but herself,

  This yet were pity enough for tears of blood,

  So fair she is and less by place than kind

  Royal, so high and so assured of spirit,

  So full of all things all men love or fear,

  Heart’s light and fire, a soul born winged, with eyes

  That mate the sun’s eye and the lightning’s; yea,

  It were past count of pity, past men’s thought,

  That she should fall for love’s light sake self-slain.

  MELVILLE.

  There were one way to serve her that would be

  Most thankless, being thankworthiest; but none else.

  HERRIES.

  That were no way for feet that would not walk

  Red as her enemies’ did, whose passage shook

  With its near sound her life and fame; such ways

  Let Morton take or Maitland’s weaponed wit,

  Whose words are swords.

  MELVILLE.

  It may be so they will.

  HERRIES.

  Death?

  MELVILLE.

  Nay, who knows when death may come?

  HERRIES.

  Why, they

  Who strike the spur into his fleshless side,

  Who prick him forward with their craft for goad,

  Or put for sword their hatred in his hand.

  They have done deeds of deadlier policy

  Than make submissive show toward Bothwell here,

  Then snare and slay him or put the queen in ward:

  Would they do this they might be serviceable

  But perilous must be, putting hand to work

  That treads nigh treason though for loyalty.

  MELVILLE.

  Whoso may know their mind, it is not I.

  HERRIES.

  She hath sent for Murray hither; in his eye

  We may take note which way their faction looks.

  If yet toward violence and red-handed craft,

  This mood of hers will strip her for their strokes

  Naked, and leave us handless that would fight

  On her just side against them. God mend all!

  Enter the Queen, Bothwell, Seyton, the Maries, and Attendants

  QUEEN.

  The wind has moved my blood like wine; I am full

  Even to the heart’s root of its spirit of life.

  Flew not my hawk the last flight well, that sent

  The tumbling hern down from her highe
st? I think

  You have none better. Is our brother come?

  SEYTON.

  He is now alighting, madam.

  QUEEN.

  By this hand,

  I would when we must ‘light from horse we might

  Take wing instead, and so what time we live

  Live ever at glad speed save when we sleep.

  It points and edges the dull steel of life

  To feel the blood and brain in us renew

  By help of that life lifting us, and speed

  That being not ours is mixed with us and serves.

  I would hold counsel and wage war and reign

  Not in walled chambers nor close pens of state,

  But or in saddle or at sea, my steed

  As a sea-wave beneath the wind and me,

  Or the sea serving as a bitted steed

  That springs like air and fire. Time comes, they say,

  When we love rest, house-keeping sloth, and calms;

  To me I think it will not come alive.

  HERRIES.

  Madam, I would change yet one word with you

  Ere I go hence or others take your ear.

  QUEEN.

  So shall you, sir; yet is my heart too light,

  And its live blood too merry from the chase,

  And all my life too full of the air of joy

  Whereon it mounts up falcon-like for prey

  And hovers at its wings’ width ere it strike,

  To give wise words wise welcome; yet what grace

  I may to your grave counsels will I show

  And modesty of audience. Tell my brother

  I shortly will receive him.

  Exeunt all but the Queen and Herries.

  My good lord,

  It is for that old honour and true love

  I bear your high name and your flawless faith

  That yet mine ear makes way now for your words,

  In trust they will not wound it for its pains

  With any tuneless or intemperate breath.

  HERRIES.

  Had I no heart, or in the heart I have

  No love to serve you, madam, and no faith,

  I had parted hence without more toil of tongue

  Or strife of speech unpalatable and harsh

  In ears made wide for music; but in me

  Is heart enough to burn with fire of pain,

  If not to lighten with that fire their eyes

  For whose sake it consumes me, when I see

  Danger and death masked as true men and bold

  Attend about them with sheathed knives in hand

  And shut mouths as of serpents. Let me not

  Incense again your flame of spirit and scorn

  With faint and void reiterance of dead words

  That spent in vain their spirit before: I speak

  Not now so much to move you as would God

  I had the might to move, but of myself

  Rather to save my soul of faith alive

  And my deep heart of duty toward your grace

  By speech though fruitless and by love though lost

  That will not pass forth silent and give way

  To loud-tongued ruin that shall speak too high

  For ears to close against it. Queen of Scots,

  Lady that have the loftiest life in hand

  Even yet that ever was of queen on earth,

  Last hope of men that hope through you in God,

  Last comfort of his Church, light of his lamp

  That men have nigh blown out with blasts of night;

  O you to whose fair face and hand uplift

  The treble-kingdomed islands should turn back

  Out of the shadow of storm to follow them

  And in the shadow of faith instead lie down

  Beneath the wings that covered your crowned head,

  Even hers that brood above her fold and yours,

  The Church your mother’s, that by no hand else

  Looks yet to gather three lands in and save -

  Who have the heart and the eye and the hour for this

  Which to none other God may give again

  So as you have them - you that should be writ

  In all the royal records of the world

  Saviour, the light and the right hand of God

  Shown in a woman, to bring back and build

  What was blown down or shed as dust on the air -

  You that have spirit and mind to apprehend

  And to that apprehension put swift hand,

  Nor slow of soul nor fearful - you, our queen,

  And England’s heir, that should make higher on earth

  The name of Scot than any star in heaven,

  And on the cleft growth of two thorny stems

  Bid one rose flower of Catholic royalty

  Not to be plucked or trampled - O, will you,

  So great, so fair and fearless as you are,

  That were you no queen, or such other one

  As no such high cause calls on, you would seem

  Not less a thing made to heroic end,

  A creature crowned and armed by God to bear

  His witness to his work, and in man’s eye

  Stand signal-wise lighting the beaconed sea -

  Will you put all this as a garment off

  And change it like a vesture? By your life

  Which is the life of this land’s majesty,

  And your high soul which is our spirit of hope,

  Slay not all these; help them that trust in you;

  Help God, lest we believe him for your sake

  Ill-minded toward us for our sin, to turn

  This empire to a populous wilderness,

  A riotous desert where things vile are crowned,

  And high made low and low things set on high,

  And rule trod under with foul feet and bare,

  And kingdom parcelled by hard hands and red;

  Pity this people; give not up your realm

  To its own madness that takes fire at yours

  And lights its ruin at your own ruin, to run

  By that blind light darkling to death and hell;

  Cast not your name down under foot of men

  For such ill cause as loveless love that is

  Light lord of foolish women, or such will

  As wherewith men self-slaughtered gird themselves.

  For shame and pity and peril shall be they

  Who shall attend and wed you to your will,

  And the ring broken of the kingdom’s peace

  That is yet whole and circular as a crown

  Shall be the new ring on your wedded hand.

  QUEEN.

  Have I not said I never thought of it?

  HERRIES.

  I but beseech you keep from thought of it,

  Or from such show as puts it in men’s minds.

  QUEEN.

  If this be all your counsel or your care,

  You crave but what you have; I have given no cause

  By favour shown to faith and loyal hearts

  For the evil-witted world to tax me of love.

  Twice have you had mine ear now to this tale,

  And thrice I pray you that you seek it not.

  HERRIES.

  I shall no more. God keep your grace in joy!

  Enter Bothwell and Murray

  QUEEN.

  Good morrow, brother; and you, my lord, good day,

  Since you go hence.

  BOTHWELL.

  Goes my lord from us yet?

  HERRIES.

  Even now I take my leave. Farewell, my lords,

  And God be with your counsels.

  Exit.

  BOTHWELL.

  Nay, he shall.

  The queen was fain to have your voice, my lord,

  Ere she go back to the distempered town.

  MURRAY.

  That shall she have, sir.

  QUEEN.

  Brother, we hear word
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  How the good town is troubled of lewd men

  With libels writ and hung about the streets

  That in our servants’ name deface our own

  With fierce invention: wherefore I desired

  Your counsel with my lord here and good help

  For satisfaction of well-willing men.

  MURRAY.

  Even such will tell you it mislikes the town

  That Lennox, as they say, should be debarred

  From entrance save with six men and no more

  To hold his cause up on the trial day,

  And the main witness on his part refused

  As under charge of treason for his words

  Set forth in writing on the Tolbooth gates:

  This makes them doubt of justice to be done

  And brood or babble of devised delay,

  With tongues and minds diverse and dangerous.

  QUEEN.

  What,

  Shall one proclaimed our traitor pass unscathed

  To bear again false witness, for whose sake

  The ports are guarded, and the skipper marked

  For death who helps him from this kingdom forth

  To mock the judgment whence he stands attaint

  Of foregone treason, and must now stand free,

  And the law loose him and receive his word

  As a true man’s and taintless? What are they

  Whom by such witness Lennox would impeach

  Besides my lord here who shall answer him?

  MURRAY.

  James Balfour, and your outland serving-folk,

  Sebastian, Joseph Rizzio, with two French,

  John of Bordeaux, and Francis, of your train.

  QUEEN.

  They shall have trial, and answer it.

  MURRAY.

  ‘Twere best

  They did so soonest; time grows full of tongues;

  There was one late went through the streets by night

  With four or five accompanied for guard

  That would let none take knowledge of him, crying

  Of his own guilt most lamentably on God,

  Lord, open heaven and pour down of thy wrath

  Vengeance on me and them that have cut off

  The innocent blood; whom the chief magistrates

  Have seized and cast into the four thieves’ pit;

  But still his cry hangs in the common ear.