Douglas has young Maclellan ta'en
Without King James' law or leave,
And he has young Maclellan cast
Into the vault of stately Thrieve.
Within the courtyard Douglas stood,
The proudest man in Galloway;
When thundering o'er the drawbridge rode
A gallant soldier, Patrick Gray.
He reined up by the haughty Earl,
Saluted him right courteouslie,
"This Missive take, O noble Lord,
I bear it frae the King to thee."
"Your steed is sair distressed, Sir Knight,
And you have ridden far and fast,
Nae state affairs maun pass your lips
Until the mid-day meal is past.
"'Tis even now the hour of Twelve,
And you shall surely din wi' me,
Till then I may not open break
The Missive of His Majesty."
The Douglas said; his Seneschal
With rev'rence cam' to lead the way,
And he has at the table set,
With honor due, Sir Patrick Gray.
But Douglas for one moment paused;
The warder he was stationed near,--
A glance, a sign, and then a word
Fierce whispered in a willing ear,
Then with a smile he forward cam'
And stately set him at the board;
And who so courteous, frank, and free
As Annandale's majestic Lord?
The meat was pressed upon the guest,
But short the stay Sir Patrick made;
"My sister's son is prisoner here,
I cam' to speak for him," he said.
"Gie young Maclellan ower to me,
The King of Scotland wills it sae;
This letter bears the royal seal,
O read it out without delay."
Then Douglas cut the silken cord,
I wat he cut it leisurelie,
"A letter frae our gracious King
"Is holden in respect by me."
And then he read the Missive through,
I wat he read it leisurelie,
Then placed it gently in his breast,
And bowed in all humility.
"I'm tauld to gie my prisoner
Into your hands, Sir Patrick Gray,
My country and my King I love,
And this hie mandate I obey.
"Then com wi' me; your sister's son
Shall be delivered to your hand;
The King of Scotland wills it sae,
And I maun bow to his command."
He led Sir Patrick frae the Hall,
And brought him to the Castle Yard,
Proclaiming loudly as they went,
For King and Knight his high regard.
Then whinnied low Sir Patrick's steed,
Sae fond to see his master dear;
But wherefore is the Guard in arms?
And what is yonder object drear?
The headsman gaunt and blackly grim
Is stationed at the cruel block;
Too late, too late, alas! they come,
For he has dealt the fatal stroke.
"Tis young Maclellan's life is ta'en,
His trunk doth near the headsman lie,
And in his hand the minion holds
The victim's gory head on high.
Then Douglas spake; soft was his tongue,
Yet barbed with savage irony,
While all the passion of his race
Blazed fierce and murd'rous in his eye.
"It grieves me sair to see this youth
By an untimely chance laid low;
To please the King and you, Sir Knight,
I would have stayed the fatal blow.
"Had I but sooner kenned frae you
The mandate of my Sov'reign Lord,
I would hae tauld yon savage Carle
To lay aside his heading-sword.
"Too late! regrets are all in vain,
Nor may they give you back the dead--
But yet--your kinsman's body take,
And I shall only keep--the head."
Sir Patrick met the Douglas' eye,
But undisturbed and calm was he;
"Since you have ta'en my kinsman's head
The body is no use to me."
And he has backed his gallant steed;
Wi' lightly grasp he held the rein,
Then in the saddle turned he round--
"Earl Douglas we shall meet again.
"I cast my glove before they feet,
I tell thee, traitor, to thy face
Thou art a craven and a knave,
And to thy Knighthood a disgrace.
"By Heaven I swear to be avenged
On him who laid Maclellan low,
And 'gainst the author of this wrong
I'll prove an unrelenting foe.
"The time will come when this right hand
Shall deal requital just and true
On him who scorns his God and King,--
False Douglas until then adieu."
Lightly the bridle-re'in he shook,
And from the gloomy fortress fled,
Like arrow from the hunter's bow
So quick the gallant horseman sped.
"Up, up, and ride," the Douglas cried,
"Bring back yon villain Knight to me,
Dead or alive he shall be mine,
The King he never more maun see."
The Douglas men they up and rode
Ower hill and dale and fur and lea;
But Patrick Gray escaped them a',
And hame they plodded wearily,
Hame empty-handit to their Lord
To bear the burden of his rage,
As to and fro in gloomy Thrieve
He paced like lion in his cage.
Uneasy be thy conscience, Lord!
"Tis a foul wrong that thou hast done,
And Patrick Gray shall yet avenge
The murder of his sister's son.
I'd love to have you drop by!--Barbara
