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

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Delphi Complete Poetical Works of Algernon Charles Swinburne (Illustrated) (Delphi Poets Series) Page 239

by Algernon Charles Swinburne


  Shall they prove comfortable or deadly. Sirs,

  I have that to speak and hear that but requires

  The Lady Mary’s ear and mine; I pray you,

  Take not offence that I crave leave to say

  We must for some space lack your company.

  MORTON.

  My lord, the land that puts her trust in you

  Bids us obey, well knowing that love nor fear

  Shall bend you from her service.

  LADY LOCHLEVEN.

  Sir -

  MURRAY.

  Your will?

  LADY LOCHLEVEN.

  I am no parcel of the sovereign state

  That gives you of its greatness, nor have right

  To speak commandingly; yet ere I go

  I would desire you by what name I may,

  Look on this lady with such equal eyes

  As nor the wrath and hate of violent men,

  Nor sense of evil done to this land’s peace

  By her mischance and evil counsellors,

  Nor (what I would not fear to find in you)

  Desire of rule with pride of station, may

  Divert to do her wrong or glance aside

  From the plain roadway of that righteousness

  Whose name is also mercy. This at least

  Surely by me may be of you required,

  That in this house no wrong by word or act,

  By deed or threat, may touch her.

  MURRAY.

  Be assured

  No wrong shall ever touch her by my hand;

  And be content to know it.

  QUEEN.

  Madam, these lords

  Know that I thought ere this to find of you

  A mediatress between me and your son;

  I have my hope, and with a humble heart

  I take your intercession thankfully.

  Exeunt all but the Queen and Murray.

  MURRAY.

  I would I had another cause to speak

  Or you to listen, than this bitter theme

  That brings us back together, though for that

  I had died a foreign man.

  QUEEN.

  I thought not, sir,

  When we last parted ere the break of spring,

  To meet you thus in summer; but these months

  Have wrought things stranger on me.

  MURRAY.

  Say, yourself

  Have made of them more strange and perilous use

  Than is the fruit they bear. I am not come

  To flatter with you; that I seek your death

  I think you fear not, yet should surely know

  The man that seeks were now more like to speed

  Than he that would preserve it. Heaven and earth

  As with the tongue of one same law demand

  Justice against you; nor can pity breathe

  But low and fearful, till the right be weighed

  That must in pity’s spite and fear’s be done,

  Or this land never thrive. For that right’s sake

  And not for hatred or rebellious heart

  Do men require that judgment pass on you

  And bring forth execution; the broad world

  Expects amazedly when we that rule

  Shall purge this land of blood, which now looks red

  In the world’s eye, and blushing not for shame

  Blushes with bloodshed; in men’s general mouths

  The name of Scot is as a man’s attaint

  Of murderous treason, or as his more vile

  That for base heart and fear or hire of gold

  With folded hands watches the hands that slay

  Grow great in murder; and God’s heavy doom

  Shall be removed not from us, nor his wrath,

  Well may we fear, shall lighten, till the deed

  That reeks as recent yet toward the fair heavens

  Be thoroughly cleansed with judgment.

  QUEEN.

  Must I too

  Bleed to make Scotland clean of baser blood

  Than this she seeks of mine?

  MURRAY.

  If you shall die,

  Bethink you for what cause, and that sole thought

  Shall seal your lips up from all pride of plea

  That would put in between your deed and doom

  The name of queen to cover you. No age

  That lived on earth red-handed without law

  Ever let pass in peace and unchastised

  Such acts as this that yet in all men’s ears

  Rings as a cry unanswered. When your lord

  Lay newly murdered, and all tongues of friends

  Were loud in prayer to you to save your name

  From stain of accusation, and yield up

  That head to judgment which the whole world held

  Blood-guilty, first with subtle stretch of time

  Did you put back the trial, then devise

  To make it fruitless save of mockery; next,

  I cannot say for shame what shame foregone

  Moved you to put upon this loathing land

  That great dishonour to behold and bear

  The man your lover for its lord, and you,

  Queen of all Scots and thrall of one most base,

  While yet the ring was from his finger warm

  That sealed it first, and on his wedded hand

  The young blood of your husband, ere the print

  Had cooled of marriage or of murder, you

  In the hot circle of his amorous arms

  A new-espoused adulteress. Will you say

  You were enforced or by false counsels bent

  To take him to your bosom? In what eye

  Was not the foregone commerce of your loves

  As bare as shame? what ear had heard not blown

  His name that was your sword and paramour,

  Whose hand in yours was now as steel to slay,

  Now as a jewel for love to wear, a pledge

  Hot from your lips and from your husband’s heart?

  Who knew not what should make this man so proud

  That none durst speak against him of your friends

  But must abide for answer unaware

  The peril of the swords that followed him?

  Went he not with you where you went, and bade

  Men come and go, do this or do not, stand

  Or pass as pleased him, ere that day had risen

  Which gave the mockery of a ravished bride

  To the false violence of his fraudful rape

  That hardly she could feign to fear, or hide

  The sweetness of the hour when she might yield

  That which was his before, and in men’s eyes

  Make proof of her subjection? Nay, forbear;

  Plead not for shame that force was put on you

  To bear that burden and embrace that shame

  For which your heart was hungry; foe nor friend

  Could choose but see it, and that the food desired

  Must be but mortal to you. Think on this,

  How you came hither crowned these six years gone

  In this same summer month, and with what friends

  Girt round about and guarded with what hopes,

  And to a land how loving; and these years,

  These few brief years, have blown from off your boughs

  All blossom of that summer, though nor storm

  Nor fire from heaven hath wrecked nor wind laid low

  That stately tree that shadowed a glad land,

  But now being inly gnawn of worms to death

  And made a lurking-place for poisonous things

  To breed and fester at its rotten root,

  The axe is come against it. None save you

  Could have done this, to turn all hearts and hands

  That were for love’s sake laid before your feet

  To fire and iron whetted and made hot

  To war against you. No man lives that know
s

  What is your cause, and loathes not; though for craft

  Or hope of vantage some that know will seem

  To know not, and some eyes be rather blind

  Than see what eyeless ignorance in its sleep,

  If but it would, must needs take note of; none

  Whose mind is maimed not by his own mere will

  And made perforce of its own deed perverse

  Can read this truth awry. What have you done?

  Men might weep for you, yea, beholding it

  The eyes of angels melt; no tide of tears

  Could wash from hand or soul the sinful sign

  That now stands leprous there; albeit God knows

  Myself for very pity could be glad

  By mine own loss to ransom you, and set

  Upon your soul again the seal of peace

  And in your hand its empire; but your act

  Has plucked out of men’s hearts that fain would keep

  The privilege of mercy; God alone

  Can lose not that for ever, but retains

  For all sins done that cry for judgment here

  The property of pity, which in man

  Were mere compliance and confederacy

  With the sin pardoned; so shall you do best,

  Being thus advised, to entertain the hope

  Of nothing but God’s mercy, and henceforth

  Seek that as chiefest refuge; for in man

  There shall no trust deliver you, nor free

  Body nor soul from bonds. Weep not for that;

  But let your tears be rather as were hers

  That wept upon the feet of God, and bought

  With that poor price her pardon.

  QUEEN.

  So should I,

  If grief more great may buy it than any of theirs

  That had sinned more than I; nay, such have been

  And have been pardoned. I have done ill, and given

  My name for shame to feed on, put mine honour

  Into mine enemies’ keeping, made my fame

  A prey and pasture for the teeth of scorn;

  I dare not say I wist not by what mean

  I should be freed of one that marred my life,

  Who could by no mean else be quit of him

  Save this blind way of blood; yet men there were

  More wise than I, men much less wronged of him,

  That led me to it and left me; but indeed

  I cite not them to extenuate by strange aid

  Mine own rash mind and unadvisedness

  That brought forth fruit of death; yet must you know

  What counsels led me by the hand, and whence

  My wrath was fostered; and how all alone,

  How utterly uncomforted, and girt

  With how great peril, when the man was slain,

  I stood and found not you to counsel me,

  And no man else that loved; and in such need

  If I did ill to seek to that strong hand

  Which had for me done evil, if evil it were

  To avenge me of mine enemy, what did they

  That by their hands and voices on his side

  Put force on me to wed him? yet I say not

  I was indeed enforced; I will not mock

  With one false plea my penitent heart, nor strive

  With words to darken counsel, nor incense

  By foolishness your wisdom, to provoke

  A judgment heavier than I wait for; nay,

  You have not said that bitter thing of me

  That I may dare unsay; what most I would,

  I must deny not; yet I pray you think,

  Even as might God, being just, what cause I had,

  What plea to lighten my sore load of sin,

  Mismated and miscounselled, and had seen

  Of my sad life not wholly nineteen years

  When I came hither crowned; as yet would God

  Your head, my brother, had endured for mine

  That heaviness of honour, and this hand

  The weight of Scotland, that being laid in mine

  Has fallen and left it maimed, and on my brows

  A mark as his whose temples for his crime

  Were ringed with molten iron. Take them now,

  Though but for pity of me that pray you take,

  And bear them better than I did; for me,

  Though no plea serve me in the sight of man

  Nor grace excuse my fault, I am yet content,

  If I may live but so much time in bonds

  As may suffice for God to pardon me,

  Who shall not long put off to pardon, then

  Shut eyes and sleep to death.

  MURRAY.

  I had thought to-night

  To speak no more with you, but let that hope

  Which only in God’s name I gave you bear

  What fruit it might with prayer and watching; yet

  Take comfort, and assure yourself of life,

  And, if it may be, honour; one of these

  I may take on me to redeem, and one

  So as I may will I preserve from death

  Dealt of men’s tongues that murder it; but you,

  Keep these things in your heart; that if you raise

  Within this realm a faction, or devise

  To break these bonds, I shall not keep an hour

  This power I have to save you; nor shall keep,

  If France or England be by word of yours

  Stirred up to strike at our frail peace; nor yet

  If you shall cleave to him that should for shame

  As from this land be cast out from your heart;

  But if toward God your faults be faithfully

  In good men’s sight acknowledged, and that life

  You led with your false lord and all sins past

  Loathed and lamented, and in days to be

  The living purpose in you manifest

  Of a more modest habit and a life

  More nobly fashioned - if the slaughter done

  On your dead husband seem of you abhorred

  And those ill days misliked wherein your fame

  Drank mortal poison from his murderer’s hand -

  If this be seen, and that your mind lives clear

  From counsel of revenge upon those lords

  Who sought your reformation, nor with hope

  Nor dangerous forethought of device to be

  Renews itself to do them some day wrong;

  Then may you now sit safe, and unreproved

  Expect an end of bondage; for at large

  You cannot think to live yet, who in time

  May haply by repentance be restored

  And for your prison somewhile here endured

  Find yet your throne again, and sit renewed

  More royal than men wist who saw the ship

  Put in from France that bore you.

  QUEEN.

  O my friend,

  O brother, found now father to me too,

  Who have raised and rebegotten me from death,

  By how much less I thank you for my life

  Think so much more for honour I give thanks

  That you raise up the hope in me to have

  Which was nigh dead for shame. O, let me hold

  Embracing him.

  My comfort in mine arms, and with dumb lips

  Kiss you my thanks; I looked for less than this,

  But yet for comfort of you. One thing more,

  Having so much, will I require, and cease -

  Even for my son’s sake and mine own to lay

  The charge upon you of this regency

  Which none might bear so noble, nor bring back

  Her peace again to Scotland, as I know

  Your hand shall bring; and had I known betimes

  I had not started from its curb aside

  Nor set against its strength in no good hour

  The feebleness of mine: but if your heart

  Be
large enough to let forgiveness in

  Of my wrongs done and days of wanton will,

  Take this charge too, to keep for me the forts

  Of all that was my kingdom; I would have

  Nothing of mine lie now not in your hand;

  Keep too my jewels; all I had of worth,

  What help without you should I have of it,

  What profit or what surety? let your heart

  Cast her not out who prays you of your grace

  Take these in trust and me.

  MURRAY.

  I may not these,

  But you that put yourself into my trust

  I will not fail.

  QUEEN.

  Nay, you shall keep them too.

  MURRAY.

  I would not put my hand forth uncompelled

  To take for life and death the burden up

  That burns as fire and bows the back that bears

  As with an iron load; and certainly

  He that shall take this kingdom on his hand

  I think shall live not long; nor pride nor hope

  But very love and strong necessity

  Could only bow me down to obey their will

  Who should enforce on mine the task to bear

  This grievous office, that if Scotland bid

  I for her sake must bear till I may die.

  But if I be not bidden, for no love

  Or fear or lust of kingdom will I seek

  The labour and the grief of that great charge

  That I may live and feel not.

  QUEEN.

  By my lips,

  That have no royal right to speak for her

  Now, think that yet she bids you, seeing none else

  To undo mine evil done on her, and heal

  The wounds mine enemies and myself have made

  In her sweet peace: she hath no stay but you;

  Whom other should she seek to? and for me

  Again I dare not urge you, but my heart

  Is turned into a prayer that pleads with yours

  To lend its weakness comfort of your strength

  By taking off its fears; these that break mine

  Can bow not yours: O, take from me that weight

  Which were to you but sport and ornament,

  The natural honour of a hand so strong

  And spirit elect of all men’s souls alive

  To do a work imperial.

  MURRAY.

  If not else,

  But by me only may this land find peace,

  By me then shall it; for your private charge,

  Impute not to me for default of love

  That I beseech you lay no more on me

  Than public need enforces; in my trust

 

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