The Queen's Warning.
The Queen's Warning.
O son of mine, my heart is sair,
And laden with unceasing care
For thee my eldest born,
'Tis thou are King's Lieutenant, yet
Thy lofty office men forget,
And haud thee up to scorn.
Change, Rothesay, change they reckless mood,
Bethink thee of thy royal blood,
And on thy Trust reflect;
Strive to amend they wayward course,
To govern wisely, to enforce
A jealous Land's respect.
The King is wroth, and from thy hand
May wrest the baton of command,
Beware, beware, my son!
A feeble hold on power thou hast;
Unless thou can'st redeem the past
Thy course is well-nigh run.
Beware of foes in friendly guise,
Beware of secret enemies,
They dog thy careless path;
And they who frankest smile on thee
May only hide their enmity,
And unrelenting wrath.
Thou hast supplanted Albany,
Hast stripped him of his office hie
And fondly-cherished state,
Now for revenge and power he burns,
And 'gainst his heedless nephew turns
The rancour of his hate.
Thy wife thou treatest with disdain,
But can a Douglas calm remain
And smile at injury?
Her haughty brother's ire is roused,
His sister's cause hath he espoused,
And sworn to humble thee.
Rossie's fair sister thou'st betrayed
And to her utter ruin led,
Now Rossie plots thy death;
His sister's priceless honor lost
Thy blood, he vows, shall be the cost,
And he no pity hath.
Then thou hast from they presence sent
In wrath and open discontent
Ramornie once they friend;
Knows't not this fiend in guise of man
Doth even now unceasing plan
Thy sov'reignty to end?
O son from Pleasure's dream awake,
O son thy reckless course forsake
And folly cast aside;
Seek counsel only from the wise,
With sober-minded men advise,
And in their strength confide,
Else shell thy mother's words come true,
And thou with bitter tears shalt rue
The Past, its sin and blame;
Thy foes shall triumph over thee,
While stern impartial History
Shall register thy shame.
Now let me clasp thee, ere we part,
O wayward Rothesay, to this heart
That ever yearns for thee.
When thou are tempted, pause, reflect,
Think on thy Trust, they self-respect,
And think, O think on me.
Thy pious father, too -- the while
I warn, thou hearest with a smile;
Alas, alas, the pain!
That smile condemns my soul to woe,
My task is thankless; now I know
My words are all in vain.
The Widow's Plaint.
May Heaven's vengeance follow thee
O crafty murd'rous Albany,
Grief be thy portion, war and strife,
Until thou sicken of thy life,
For now my gallant Rothesay's dead,
And at thy door the deed is laid.
The subtle web 'twas thou did spin,
"Twas thou conceived the deadly sin --
Thou might'st not tamely brook to see
Another set to rule o'er thee,
But would'st be king, and heir, and throne,
And reign with iron hand alone.
Accurs'd be Falkland's cruel Tower
That ministered to tyrant power,
Accurs'ed be the dungeon black
That Scotland's winsome heir did rack
With woes and misery untold,
Hunger and thirst, and bitter cold.
Now he is dead, and I am left
Of all I held most dear bereft;
None was more sprightly, bold, and fair
In all the land than Scotland's heir;
Men scorned him for his levity,
But he was all in all to me.
I marked the follies of his life,
Yet ever was his faithful wife;
When he to pleasures vain would flee
I knew he would return to me;
Others might wile with cunning art,
But I alone possessed his heart.
O Rossie and Ramornie base!
Bear to your graves shame and disgrace;
How could you lay the ruffian hand
Upon the noblest in the land,
And cast the heir to Scotland's throne
Into a dungeon foul and lone?
They seized him nigh Saint Andrew's town
As he was journeying alone,
They threw a mean plain round his form
To shield him from the pelting storm,
Then brought him on to Falkland's Tower,
To Albany's malignant power.
Incredible his awful doom;
They laid him in a living tomb,
A vaulted cell of dripping stone,
And food and drink they gave him none,
But left him in his misery
A gently-nurtured youth -- to die.
Hunger and thirst! slow crept the hour
Within the awful silent tower!
Hunger and thirst without allay,
Slow crawled the tardy-footed day;
Hunger and thirst -- no sweet respite --
Slow glided by the sullen night.
And day and night, and day and night
Held their slow course, still no respite --
No voice broke on his list'ning ear,
No welcome footfall sounded near.
At last a wild despairing cry
Proclaimed the victim's agony.
He drew him with fast-failing power
Close to the loophole of his tower,
Aloud he called for human aid,
And then he wept and humbly prayed;
With bended head and bated breath
He earnest prayed to God for death.
His cry, his prayer a woman hears,
With stealthy step the loop she nears
And kneels adown -- ah, glad surprise!
Hope brightens his despairing eyes,
She bows to aid, though Death may be --
She fears it not -- the penalty.
A woman resolute and brave,
She did her modest all to save --
And 'neath her ample robe conveyed
The welcome milk and barley bread
--The best she had -- to the grim cell,
When darkness o'er the Castle fell.
But not for long this slender aid
Was to the luckless Prince conveyed;
A watch was set -- the livelong hour
The ruffian warders girt the tower,
And every footstep as it fell
Sounded the hapless Rothesay's knell.
O Death, O Death, but thou wert slow
To lay my gallant husband low!
At length he cast him on the floor
And his own tender flesh he tore;
On this I dwell both night and day,
I cannot drive the thought away.
Welcome the hour that brought release,
Welcome the hour that gave him Peace.
His faults were but the faults of youth,
His virtues, bravery and truth,
His fate! -- my bitter curse on thee
Thou tiger-hearted Albany.
I cannot rest, I cannot sleep,
No peace have I, nor can I weep,
My tortured thoughts for ever dwell
On Rothesay in his stony cell.
O would that I were only dead,
And in the tomb beside him laid.
Scotland! I call aloud to thee
For vengeance upon Albany;
Heaven, I implore on bended knee
Thy vengeance upon Albany,
Whose hate hath wrought the foulest wrong
That e'er was told by human tongue.
I'd love to have you drop by!--Barbara
