And on her face the muffler, it befell
That as she sat before the rowers and saw
Some half her free brief way of water past,
By turn of head or lightning of her look
For mirth she could not hide and joyous heart,
Or but by some sweet note of majesty,
Some new bright bearing and imperious change
From her false likeness, so she drew their eyes
That one who rowed, saying merrily Let us see
What manner of dame is this, would fain pluck down
Her muffler, who to guard it suddenly
Put up her fair white hands, which seeing they knew
And marvelled at her purpose; she thereat,
A little wroth but more in laughter, bared
Her head and bade stretch oars and take the land
On their lives’ peril; which regarding not,
They straight put back as men amazed, but swore
To keep fast locked from mine of all men’s eyes
The secret knowledge of this frustrate craft,
So set her down on the island side again
With muffled head and hidden hands, to wring
And weep apart for passion, where my watch
Looks now more strict upon her; but I think,
For all her wrath and grief to be by chance
From her near hope cast down and height of mind
Wherein she went forth laughingly to find
What good might God bring of her perilous hour,
She hath lost not yet nor changed that heart nor hope,
But looks one day to mock us.
MURRAY.
So I think;
And in that fear would have you keep fast watch
By night and day till we take off the charge
Laid on your faith, and or enfranchise her
Or change her place of ward; which, ere the spring
That holds in chase this winter’s flying foot
Be turned to summer, haply shall be done.
What fashion holds our mother with the queen?
SIR W. DOUGLAS.
As she was ever tender of her state
And mild in her own office, so she keeps
Observance yet and reverence more than meet
Save toward a queen, toward this her guest enforced
Who smiles her back a prisoner’s thanks, and sighs
That she should smile in prison; but ‘twixt whiles
Some change of mood will turn to scorn or spleen
Her practised patience, and some word take wing
Forth from her heart’s root through her lips that hath
The gall of asps within it; yet not this
Turns the heart hard or bitter that awaits
Her gentler change, pitying the wrong it bears
And her that wrongs it for the sorrow’s sake
That chafes and rends her.
MURRAY.
Pity may she give
And be praised for it; but to entertain
Hope or desire that wars against her trust
Should turn that praise to poison. Have you seen
Since George went thence, or noted ere he went,
In her no token of a mingled mind
That sways ‘twixt faith and such a faithless hope
As feeds a mother’s love with deadly dreams
Of prophesying ambition? for in him
I spied the sickness of a tainted heart
And fever-fired from the most mortal eyes
That ever love drank death of.
SIR W. DOUGLAS.
No, my lord.
MURRAY.
I would fain trust her mind were whole in this
And her thoughts firm; yet would not trust too far,
Who know what force of fraud and fire of will
In that fierce heart and subtle, without fear,
That God hath given so sweet a hiding-place,
Make how much more the peril and the power
Of birth and kinglier beauty, that lay wait
For her son’s sake to tempt her. We will hold
More speech of this; here shall you rest to-night.
Exeunt.
Scene VI. Lochleven Castle
The Queen and Mary Beaton
QUEEN.
Is it not sunset? what should ail the day
To hang so long in heaven? the world was blind
By this time yesternight. The lake gleams yet;
Will the sun never sink, for all the weight
That makes this hour so heavy?
MARY BEATON.
While you speak,
The outer gate that stands till nightfall wide
Shuts on the sundown; and they bring the keys
That soon the page shall put into our hand
To let in freedom.
QUEEN.
I could weep and laugh
For fear and hope and angry joy and doubt
That wring my heart. I am sick at once and well:
Shall I win past them in this handmaid’s dress
If we be spied? My hood is over broad;
Help me to set it forward; and your own
Sits loose; but pluck it closer on your face
For cloak and cover from the keen moon’s eye
That peers against us. Twice, thou knowest, yea thrice,
God has betrayed me to mine enemies’ hands
Even when my foot was forth; if it slip now,
He loves nor kings that hold his office here
Nor his own servants, but those faithless mouths
That mock all sovereignties in earth or heaven.
If here he fail me and I fall again
To sit in bonds a year - by God’s own truth,
I swear I will not keep this wall of flesh
To cage my spirit within these walls of stone,
But break this down to set that free from these,
That being delivered of men’s wrongs and his
It may stand up, and gazing in his eyes
Accuse him of my traitors.
MARY BEATON.
Keep good heart;
Your hope before was feverish and too light,
And so it failed you: in this after plot
There is more form and likeness than in those
That left you weeping; let not passion now
Foil your good fortune twice, or heat of mood
From keen occasion take the present edge
And blunt the point of fortune.
QUEEN.
If I knew
This man were faithful - O, my heart that was
Is melted from me, and the heart I have
Is like wax melting. Were my feet once free,
It should be strong again; here it sinks down
As a dead fire in ashes. Dare we think
I shall find faith in him, who have not found
In all the world? no man of mine there is,
None of my land or blood, but hath betrayed,
Betrayed or left me.
MARY BEATON.
Nay, too strange it were
That you should come to want men’s faith, and look
For love of man in vain; these were your jewels,
You cannot live to lack them; nay, but less;
Your common ornaments to wear and leave,
Your change of raiment to cast off, and bind
A fresher robe about you: while men live
And you live also, these must give you love,
And you must use it.
QUEEN.
So one told me once -
That I must use and lose it. If my time
Be come to need man’s love and find it not,
I have known death make a prophet of a man
That living could foretell but his own end,
Not save himself, being foolish; and I too,
I am mad as he was, now to think on him
Or my de
ad follies. Were these walls away,
I should no more; ay, when this strait is past,
I shall win back my wits and my blithe heart,
And make good cheer again.
Enter Page
PAGE.
Here are the keys;
I had wrought instead a ladder for our need
With two strong oars made fast across, for fear
I had failed at last from under my lord’s eye
To sweep them off the board-head; here they ring,
As joy-bells here to give your highness note
The skiff lies moored on the island’s lee, and waits
But till the castle boats by secret hands
Be stripped of oars and rowlocks, and pursuit
Made helpless, maimed of all its means; the crew
Is ready that shall lend us swifter wing
Than one man’s strength to fly with; and beyond
Your highness’ friends upon the further bank
Wait with my master’s horses; never was
A fairer plot or likelier.
QUEEN.
How thy face
Lightens! Poor child, what knowest thou of the chance
That cast thee on my fortunes? it may be
To death ere life break bud, and thy poor flower
The wind of my life’s tempest shall cut off,
And blow thy green branch bare. Many there be
Have died, and many that now live shall die,
Ere my life end, for my life’s sake; and none
There is that knows, of all that love or hate,
What end shall come of this night’s work, and what
Of all my life-days. I shall die in bonds
Perchance, a bitter death; yet worse it were
To outlive dead years in prison, and to loathe
The life I could not lose. This will not be;
No days and nights shall I see wax and wane,
Kindled and quenched in bondage, any more;
For if to-night I stand not free on earth
As the sun stands in heaven, whose sovereign eye
Next day shall see me sovereign, I shall live
Not one day more of darkling life, as fire
Pent in a grate, bound in with blackening bars,
But like a star by God hurled forth of heaven
Fall, and men’s eyes be darkened, and the world
Stand heart-struck, and the night and day be changed
That see me falling. If I win not forth,
But, flying, be taken of the hands that were
Before laid on me, they shall never think
To hold me more in fetters, but take heart
To do what earth saw never yet, and lay
By doom and sentence on their sovereign born
Death; I shall find swift judgment, and short shrift
My justicers shall give me; so at least
Shall I be quit of bondage. Come, my friends,
That must divide with me for death or life
This one night’s issue: be it or worst or best,
Yet have ye no worse fortune than a queen,
Or she than ye no better. On this hour
Hang all those hours that yet we have to live:
Let us go forth to pluck the fruit of this
That leans now toward our hand. My heart is light;
Be yours not heavier; for your eyes and mine
Shall look upon these walls and waves no more.
Exeunt.
Scene VII. The Shore of Loch Leven
George Douglas, Beaton, Ricarton, with Attendants
GEORGE DOUGLAS.
I hear the beat of the oars: they make no haste:
How the stars thicken! if a mist would take
The heaven but for an hour and hide them round -
RICARTON.
How should they steer then straight? we lacked but light,
And these are happy stars that sign this hour
With earnest of good fortune; and betimes
See by their favour where the prize we seek
Is come to port.
Enter the Queen, Mary Beaton, Page, and a Girl attending
QUEEN.
Even such a night it was
I looked again for to deliver me,
Remembering such a night that broke my bonds
Two wild years past that brought me through to this;
The wind is loud beneath the mounting moon,
And the stars merry. Noble friends, to horse;
When I shall feel my steed exult with me,
I will give thanks for each of your good deeds
To each man’s several love. I know not yet
That I stand here enfranchised; for pure joy
I have not laid it yet to heart; methinks
This is a lightning in my dreams to-night
That strikes and is not, and my flattered eyes
Must wake with dawn in bonds. Douglas, I pray,
If it be not but as a flash in sleep
And no true light now breaking, tell me you,
That were my prison’s friend; I will believe
I am free as fire, free as the wind, the night,
All glad fleet things of the airier element
That take no hold on earth; for even like these
Seems now the fire in me that was my heart
And is a song, a flame, a burning cloud
That moves before the sun at dawn, and fades
With fierce delight to drink his breath and die.
If ever hearts were stabbed with joy to death,
This that cleaves mine should do it, and one sharp stroke
Pierce through the thrilled and trembling core like steel
And cut the roots of life. Nay, I am crazed,
To stand and babble like one mad with wine,
Stung to the heart and bitten to the brain
With this great drink of freedom; O, such wine
As fills man full of heaven, and in his veins
Becomes the blood of gods. I would fain feel
That I were free a little, ere that sense
Be put to use; those walls are fallen for me,
Those waters dry, those gaolers dead, and this
The first night of my second reign, that here
Begins its record. I will talk no more
Nor waste my heart in joyous words, nor laugh
To set my free face toward the large-eyed sky
Against the clear wind and the climbing moon,
And take into mine eyes and to my breast
The whole sweet night and all the stars of heaven,
But put to present work the heart and hand
That here rise up a queen’s. Bring me to horse;
We will take counsel first of speed, and then
Take time for counsel.
BEATON.
Madam, here at hand
The horses wait: Lord Seyton rides with us
Hence to Queen’s Ferry, where beyond the Forth
We reach Claude Hamilton, who with fresh steeds
Expects us; to Long Niddry thence, and there
Draw rein among the Seytons, ere again
We make for Hamilton, whose walls should see
The sun and us together.
QUEEN.
Well devised.
Where is the girl that fled with us, and gave
These garments for my surety? she shall have
Her part in my good hour, that in mine ill
Did me good service.
RICARTON.
Madam, she must stay;
We have not steeds enough, and those we have
May bear no load more than perforce they must,
Or we not hope to speed.
QUEEN.
Nay, she shall go,
Not bide in peril of mine enemies here
While we fly scatheless hence.
GIRL.
Most gracious queen,
Of me take no such care: I am well content
They should do with me all they would, and I
Live but so long to know my queen as safe
As I for her die gladly.
RICARTON.
She says well;
Get we to horse. I must ride south to rouse
My kinsfolk, and with all our Hepburn bands
Seize on Dunbar; whence northward I may bear
Good tidings to your lord.
QUEEN.
God make them good
That he shall hear of me, and from his mouth
Send me good words and comfort! You shall ride
Straight from Lord Seyton’s with my message borne
To all good soldiers of your clan and mine
And wake them for our common lord’s dear love
To strike once more, or never while they live
Be called but slaves and kinless: then to him
For whom the bonds that I put off to-night
Were borne and broken. Douglas, of that name
Most tender and most true to her that was
Of women most unfriended, and of queens
Most abject and unlike to recompense,
Take in your hand the hand that it set free,
And lead me as you led me forth of bonds
To my more perfect freedom. Sirs, to horse.
Exeunt.
Scene VIII. Hamilton Castle
The Queen, Argyle, and Huntley
QUEEN.
I ever thought to find your faiths again
When time had set me free; nor shall my love
To my good friends be more unprofitable
Than was my brother’s, from whose promised hand
Both have withdrawn the alliance of your own
To plight once more with mine: your son, my lord,
And, noble sir, your brother, will not fail
Of worthier wedlock and of trustier ties
Than should have bound them to a traitor’s blood,
His daughter, and the sister of his wife,
Whom he so thought to honour, and in them
Advance his counsels and confirm his cause
Through your great names allied, who now take part
More worthily with one long overthrown
And late rerisen with many a true man’s more
And royally girt round with many a friend’s;
Nor need we lay upon our kinsmen here
All our hope’s burden, nor submit our hand
To marriage with our cousin’s of Arbroath
Delphi Complete Poetical Works of Algernon Charles Swinburne (Illustrated) (Delphi Poets Series) Page 241