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

by Algernon Charles Swinburne

  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