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The princely boy against his King !
Still in his conscience burns the sting.
In offices as strict as Lent,
King James's June is ever spent.

XVI. “ When last this ruthful month was come, And in Linlithgow's holy dome

The King, as wont, was praying ;
While, for his royal father's soul,
The chaunters sung, the bells did toll,

The Bishop mass was saying-
For now the year brought round again
The day the luckless King was slain-

In Katharine’s aisle the Monarch knelt,
With sackcloth-shirt, and iron belt,

And eyes with sorrow streaming; Around him, in their stalls of state, The Thistle's Knight-Companions sate,

Their banners o'er them beaming.

I too was there, and, sooth to tell,
Bedeafened with the jangling knell,
Was watching where the sunbeams fell,

Through the stained casement gleaming;
But, while I marked what next befel,

It seemed as I were dreaming.
Stepped from the crowd a ghostly wight,
In azure gown, with cincture white;
His forehead bald, his head was bare,
Down hung at length his yellow hair.-
Now mock me not, when, good my Lord,
I pledge to you my knightly word,
That, when I saw his placid grace,
His simple majesty of face,
His solemn bearing, and his pace

So stately glided on —
Seemed to me ne'er did limner paint
So just an image of the Saint,
Who propped the Virgin in her faint,-

The loved Apostle John.

XVII.

“ He stepped before the Monarch's chair,
And stood with rustic plainness there,

And little reverence made :
Nor head, nor body, bowed nor bent,
But on the desk his arm he leant,

And words like these he said,
In a low voice,—but never tone
So thrilled through vein, and nerve, and bone :-

My mother sent me from afar,
Sir King, to warn thee not to war,—

Woe waits on thine array ;
If war thou wilt, of woman fair,
Her witching wiles and wanton snare,
James Stuart, doubly warned, beware:

God keep thee as he may!-
The wondering Monarch seemed to seek

For answer, and found none;
And when he raised his head to speak,

The monitor was gone.

The Marshal and myself had cast
To stop him as he outward past ;
But, lighter than the whirlwind’s blast,

He vanished from our eyes,
Like sunbeam on the billow cast,

That glances but, and dies.” —

XVIII.

While Lindesay told this marvel strange,

The twilight was so pale,
He marked not Marmion's colour change,

While listening to the tale:
But, after a suspended pause,
The Baron spoke :-“ Of Nature's laws

So strong I held the force,
That never super-human cause

Could e'er controul their course ; And, three days since, had judged your aim Was but to make your guest your game. But I have seen, since past the Tweed, What much has changed my sceptic creed,

And made me credit aught.”—He staid,
And seemed to wish his words unsaid :

But, by that strong emotion pressed,
Which prompts us to unload our breast,

Even when discovery's pain,
To Lindesay did at length unfold
The tale his village host had told,

At Gifford, to his train.
Nought of the Palmer says he there,
And nought of Constance, or of Clare :
The thoughts, which broke his sleep, he seems
To mention but as feverish dreams.

XIX. “ In vain,” said he, “to rest I spread My burning limbs, and couched my head :

Fantastic thoughts returned;
And, by their wild dominion led,

My heart within me burned.
So sore was the delirious goad,
I took my steed, and forth I rode,

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