Half naked he stood, but stood as one
Who yet could do and dare:
With the crown, the King was stript away,-
The Knight was reft of his battle-array,

But still the Man was there.

From the rout then stepped a villain forth,-
Sir John Hall was his name;
With a knife unsheathed he leapt to the
vault

Beneath the torchlight-flame.

Of his person and stature was the King
A man right manly strong,
And mightily by the shoulder-blades
His foe to his feet he flung.

Then the traitor's brother, Sir Thomas
Hall,

Sprang down to work his worst;

And the King caught the second man by the neck

And flung him above the first.

And he smote and trampled them under him;

And a long month thence they bare All black their throats with the grip of his hands

When the hangman's hand came there.

And sore he strove to have had their knives,

But the sharp blades gashed his hands. Oh James! so armed, thou hadst battled there

Till help had come of thy bands; And oh! once more thou hadst held our throne

And ruled thy Scottish lands!

But while the King o'er his foes still raged With a heart that naught could tame, Another man sprang down to the crypt; And with his sword in his hand hardgripp'd,

There stood Sir Robert Græme.

(Now shame on the recreant traitor's heart
Who durst not face his King
Till the body unarmed was wearied out
With two-fold combating!

Ah! well might the people sing and say,
As oft ye have heard aright:
"O Robert Grame, O Robert Grame,
Who slew our King, God give thee shame!"
For he slew him not as a knight.)

And the naked King turned round at bay,
But his strength had passed the goal,
And he could but gasp:-"Mine hour is
come;

But oh! to succor thine own soul's doom, Let a priest now shrive my soul!"

And the traitor looked on the King's spent strength

And said: "Have I kept my word? Yea, King, the mortal pledge that I gave? No black friar's shrift thy soul shall save, But the shrift of this red sword!"

With that he smote his King through the breast;

And all they three in the pen

Fell on him and stabbed and stabbed him there

Like merciless murderous men.

Yet seemed it now that Sir Robert Græme, Ere the King's last breath was o'er, Turned sick at heart with the deadly sight And would have done no more.

But a cry came from the troop above: "If him thou do not slay,

The price of his life that thou dost spare
Thy forfeit life shall pay !"

O God! what more did I hear or see,
Or how should I tell the rest?
But there at length our King lay slain
With sixteen wounds in his breast.

O God! and now did a bell boom forth,
And the murderers turned and fled;
Too late, too late, O God, did it sound!
And I heard the true men mustering round
And the cries and the coming tread.

But ere they came, to the black death-gap Somewise did I creep and steal;

And lo! or ever I swooned away, Through the dusk I saw where the white face lay

In the Pit of Fortune's Wheel.

And now, ye Scottish maids who have heard

Dread things of the days grown old, Even at the last, of true Queen Jane

May somewhat yet be told,

And how she dealt for her dear lord's sake Dire vengeance manifold.

'T was in the Charterhouse of Perth, In the fair-lit Death-chapelle,

That the slain King's corpse on bier was laid

With chaunt and requiem-knell.

And all with royal wealth of balm
Was the body purified;

And none could trace on the brow and lips
The death that he had died.

In his robes of state he lay asleep
With orb and sceptre in hand;
And by the crown he wore on his throne
Was his kingly forehead spann'd.

And, girls, 't was a sweet sad thing to see
How the curling golden hair,
As in the day of the poet's youth,

From the King's crown clustered there.

And if all had come to pass in the brain
That throbbed beneath those curls,
Then Scots had said in the days to come
That this their soil was a different home
And a different Scotland, girls!

And the Queen sat by him night and day,
And oft she knelt in prayer,
All wan and pale in the widow's veil
That shrouded her shining hair.

And I had got good help of my hurt:
And only to me some sign

She made; and save the priests that were there

No face would she see but mine.

And the month of March wore on apace;
And now fresh couriers fared
Still from the country of the Wild Scots
With news of the traitors snared.

And still as I told her day by day,
Her pallor changed to sight,
And the frost grew to a furnace-flame
That burnt her visage white.

And evermore as I brought her word,
She bent to her dead King James,
And in the cold ear with fire-drawn breath
She spoke the traitors' names.

But when the name of Sir Robert Græme
Was the one she had to give.

I ran to hold her up from the floor; For the froth was on her lips, and sore I feared that she could not live,

THE DEFENCE OF GUENEVERE

[1858.]

BUT, knowing now that they would have her speak,

She threw her wet hair backward from her brow,

Her hand close to her mouth touching her cheek,

As though she had had there a shameful blow,

And feeling it shameful to feel ought but shame

All through her heart, yet felt her cheek burned so,

She must a little touch it; like one lame She walked away from Gauwaine, with her head

Still lifted up; and on her cheek of flame

The tears dried quick; she stopped at last and said:

'O knights and lords, it seems but little skill To talk of well-known things past now and dead.

'God wot I ought to say, I have done ill, And pray you all forgiveness heartily! Because you must be right such great lords still

'Listen, suppose your time were come to die.

And you were quite alone and very weak; Yea, laid a dying while very mightily

'The wind was ruffling up the narrow streak Of river through your broad lands running well:

Suppose a hush should come, then some one speak:

"One of these cloths is heaven, and one is hell,

Now choose one cloth for ever, which they be,

I will not tell you, you must somehow tell

"Of your own strength and mightiness; here, see!"

Yea, yea, my lord, and you to ope your eyes,

At foot of your familiar bed to see

'A great God's angel standing, with such dyes,

Not known on earth, on his great wings, and hands,

Held out two ways, light from the inner skies

'Showing him well, and making his commands

Seem to be God's commands, moreover, too,

Holding within his hands the cloths on wands;

'And one of these strange choosing cloths was blue,

Wavy and long, and one cut short and red; No man could tell the better of the two. 'After a shivering half-hour you said, "God help! heaven's colour, the blue;" and he said, "hell."

Perhaps you then would roll upon your bed,

'And cry to all good men that loved you well,

"Ah Christ! if only I had known, known, known;"

Launcelot went away, then I could tell, 'Like wisest man how all things would be,

moan,

And roll and hurt myself, and long to die, And yet fear much to die for what was

sown.

'Nevertheless you, O Sir Gauwaine, lie, Whatever may have happened through

these years,

God knows I speak truth, saying that you lie.'

Her voice was low at first, being full of tears,

But as it cleared, it grew full loud and shrill,

Growing a windy shriek in all men's ears, A ringing in their startled brains, until She said that Gauwaine lied, then her voice sunk,

And her great eyes began again to fill, Though still she stood right up, and never shrunk,

But spoke on bravely, glorious lady fair! Whatever tears her full lips may have drunk,

She stood, and seemed to think, and wrung her hair,

Spoke out at last with no more trace of shame,

With passionate twisting of her body there:

'It chanced upon a day that Launcelot came To dwell at Arthur's court: at Christmastime

This happened; when the heralds sung his name,

""Son of King Ban of Benwick," seemed to chime

Along with all the bells that rang that day, O'er the white roofs, with little change of rhyme.

'Christmas and whitened winter passed away,

And over me the April sunshine came, Made very awful with black hail-clouds,

yea

'And in the Summer I grew white with flame,

And bowed my head down - Autumn, and the sick

Sure knowledge things would never be the same,

'However often Spring might be most thick Of blossoms and buds, smote on me, and I grew

Careless of most things, let the clock tick, tick,

To my unhappy pulse, that beat right through

My eager body; while I laughed out loud, And let my lips curl up at false or true, 'Seemed cold and shallow without any cloud.

Behold my judges, then the cloths were brought:

While I was dizzied thus, old thoughts would crowd,

'Belonging to the time ere I was bought By Arthur's great name and his little love, Must I give up for ever then, I thought, 'That which I deemed would ever round me move

Glorifying all things; for a little word, Scarce ever meant at all, must I now prove 'Stone-cold for ever? Pray you, does the Lord

Will that all folks should be quite happy and good?

I love God now a little, if this cord 'Were broken, once for all what striving could

Make me love anything in earth or heaven. So day by day it grew, as if one should

'Slip slowly down some path worn smooth and even,

Down to a cool sea on a summer day; Yet still in slipping was there some small leaven

'Of stretched hands catching small stones by the way,

Until one surely reached the sea at last, And felt strange new joy as the worn head lay

'Back, with the hair like sea-weed; yea all past

Sweat of the forehead, dryness of the lips, Washed utterly out by the dear waves o'er

cast

'In the lone sea, far off from any ships! Do I not know now of a day in Spring? No minute of that wild day ever slips

'From out my memory; I hear thrushes sing,

And wheresoever I may be, straightway Thoughts of it all come up with most fresh sting;

I was half mad with beauty on that day,
And went without my ladies all alone,
In a quiet garden walled round every way;

'I was right joyful of that wall of stone, That shut the flowers and trees up with the sky,

And trebled all the beauty: to the bone,

'Yea right through to my heart, grown very shy

With weary thoughts, it pierced, and made me glad;

Exceedingly glad, and I knew verily,

'A little thing just then had made me mad; I dared not think, as I was wont to do, Sometimes, upon my beauty; if I had

'Held out my long hand up against the blue, And, looking on the tenderly darken'd fingers,

Thought that by rights one ought to see quite through,

'There, see you, where the soft still light yet lingers,

Round by the edges; what should I have done,

If this had joined with yellow spotted singers,

'And startling green drawn upward by the sun?

But shouting, loosed out, see now! all my hair,

And trancedly stood watching the west wind run

'So let God's justice work! Gauwaine, I

say,

See me hew down your proofs: yea all men know

Even as you said how Mellyagraunce one day,

'One bitter day in la Fausse Garde, for so All good knights held it after, sawYea, sirs, by cursed unknightly outrage; though

'You, Gauwaine, held his word without a flaw,

This Mellyagraunce saw blood upon my bed

Whose blood then pray you? is there any law

'To make a queen say why some spots of red

Lie on her coverlet? or will you say, "Your hands are white, lady, as when you wed,

""Where did you bleed?" and must I

stammer out - “Nay,

I blush indeed, fair lord, only to rend My sleeve up to my shoulder, where there lay

"A knife-point last night:" so must I defend

The honour of the lady Guenevere?

Not so, fair lords, even if the world should end