Poems By James Grahame. In Two Volumes |
 | I. |
|
|
|
|
| II. |
|
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
|
| I. |
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| II. |
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| III. |
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| IV. |
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| V. |
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. | SCENE IV. |
 | Poems |  |
192
SCENE IV.
—Changes to the Castle Garden.Wingfield solus.
Wing.
What can detain this lazy lubbard priest?
Whatever happen, this shall be signed by her,
And then they both, the principal and witness,
Shall swallow death. She is so full of pity,
She cannot choose but sign it. The rangership!
No, that is not enough for such a service.
She comes—O I could almost wish
To do her good. How grand, (pausing) how fair she seems,
Though veiled! I almost rue. Almighty God,
How perfect is thy work! Fool that I am!
A God!—Come reason, almighty reason, to my aid.—
Enter Mary and Adelaide.
Good-morrow to your Highness.
Mary.
Good-morrow.
Wing.
The day is better than the night foretold.
Mary.
Where is the friar? 'Twas for him I came.
Wing.
He will be here.
You see my words do not outgo performance.
[Pointing to the Chapel.
Mary.
I thank you.
193
You have not heard the tidings—
Mary.
What tidings?
Wing.
The rescue of the Queen of Scots.
[Tauntingly.
Adel.
O God!
Mary.
We are betrayed.
Wing.
Know'st not that prison walls have ears and tongues?
Mary.
Save us!
Wing.
And so you knew of it—
Mary.
Of what?
Wing.
Hear but this simple story:
Lord Hamilton is slain;
We tried to take him quick, but on a spear
He chose to spit himself, and soon he'll be
Quite ready for the worms:
Douglas, your valiant errant knight, is safe.
Adel.
Virgin, I thank thee.
Wing.
In the viced hand of justice, there he's safe.
He slew one of the sheriff's men
Before he could be mastered; he was ta'en
Redhand: Upon the spot a jury was impanneled,
Who found him principal in levying war
Against our sovereign lady; a traitor's death his doom:
There's one, and but one way to save him,
194
You should confess ere you approach the altar.
Mary.
What guilt?—
Wing.
Rizzio and Darnley, the paramour and husband.
Adel.
Bid me confess! I'm ready to confess
All crimes, the deepest, if you'll save his life.
Wing.
The lazy Spaniard comes at last.—
Enter Francisco.
Welcome, Francisco, we've been looking for you.
You've got all ready in the chapel?
Fran.
No.
Wing.
What—
Fran.
I say no.
Wing.
What dost thou mean?
Fran.
Thou'rt an assassin;
I the intending and accursed accomplice.
Wing.
Thou'rt mad; thou know'st thou'rt in my hand.
Fran.
I scorn thy power; I will not damn myself.
Wing.
Thou wretched fool! this day shall be thy last;
Beyond these walls thou ne'er shalt pass again.
Fran.
I do despise, detest thee, monster,
Almost as much as I abhor myself.
195
From that loathed sight—a villain clothed with power!
Wing.
I'll hurl thee to the death upon the point
Of but a single word; my voice will blast thee.
Fran.
Beware of him.
[ To the Queen.
Wing.
Be dumb, or this is in thy heart.
Mary.
I see it all.
Wing.
Have you resolved?
Mary.
On what?
Wing.
You do not know whose fate hangs on my word.
Mary.
No.
Adel.
No—whose?
Wing.
Hear you that slowly passing noise
Of footsteps numberless? I wish these windows
But looked that way; you'd see a noble show.
Adel.
It is, it is—I see it all:—Douglas, O Douglas!
Mary.
A hubbub dull; with now and then a voice
Of hurry and command, I hear.—What can it mean?
Adel.
O! are you blind? Douglas is in that crowd:
He's now encircled by the sheriff's spears.
Your word, O Mary, it can rescue him;
Speak, speak the word.
Wing.
Hark, hark, the trumpet sounds! Know you its tune?
It is the march of death. I know it well,
196
That is your Douglas's departing knell.
Adel.
O!
Mary.
Fear not, dear Adelaide, it cannot be.
He but deceives; yet 'tis a savage jest.
Wing.
Ye'll know ere long, I sometimes speak the truth.
Mark ye the flag above the red-rose tower?
Mary.
What then?
Wing.
I pray you, mark it.
Mary.
I do.
Wing.
'Tis white.
Mary.
I mark it; it can mean no harm to us,
Or to our friends?
Wing.
Are you prepared to sign?
[Presenting the Paper.
Mary.
Let me look at it—Never.
[Throws it from her.
Wing.
Promise to sign ere night.
Mary.
Never.
Wing.
Douglas, ere this, is on the gallow moor;
His life hangs on that flag. Will you relent?
Adel.
Mary!
Mary.
Subscribe to my own infamy!
Wing.
The red flag will be raised, the signal for the stroke.
Adel.
Mary!
Mary.
Shall I confess myself a murderess?
197
He'll die a traitor's death.
Mary.
What—
Wing.
His heart, before he's dead, will be torn out,
And burnt before—
Adel.
O can you, Mary, bear to hear of this?
Am I your Adelaide—Does Douglas love me—
Do I love him—and did he rescue you?—
Mary.
Would he had never rescued us!
But if you look so, I will say or do
Just what you wish; I will own any thing.
Adel.
'Tis coming down—the white—it drops—O stop!
Good, gentle Wingfield, stop!
Wing.
'Tis now but falling with the falling breeze.
Mary.
What shall I say? I will say any thing.
Wing.
Thus you'll propitiate my sovereign's pardon.
Mary.
Your sovereign's pardon!—pardon didst thou say?
[Contemptuously.
Wing.
And save the life of Douglas.
Mary.
I will not, no—I'm innocent.
To save myself, I would not own a crime
Of which I'm guiltless; no, not to save my child—
No—though thou o'er his cradle threatening held'st
A poniard in one hand, and in the other
That false acknowledgment,—I'd bid thee strike.
Wing.
Wilt thou persuade her?—
198
Give me the writing.—
[Looks at it—tears it.
Now let Douglas die!
I'll choose for him, he is myself; I know
He would prefer death to the Queen's dishonour.
Wing.
I see you're frantic, and I'm loath to take
Advantage of your madness; yet a few minutes
I wish to grant, to give you time to think;
But if, when I return, you still persist
In this most foolish hardiness, the sign
Of peace must down, and in its stead—
[Exit.
Mary.
Where can I turn me? Am I doomed to doom
Poor Douglas to his death!
Fran.
Be silent.
Mary.
My silence is his sentence.
Adel.
And can you utter it?—
Mary.
It was but now you tore my condemnation,
And tearing it, you tore his pardon too.
Adel.
I knew not what I did.
Fran.
Do what is right and true, and trust in God.
Mary.
I will do what thou bid'st me, Adelaide.
Adel.
O save my Douglas—quick, quick—be resolved—
I hear, I hear the wretch's foot return.
Mary.
I said I would not seal my infamy
To save my son from the assassin's dagger;
But yet, for thee, I'll murder my good name,
199
Aye, assassin, traitress—what you will, I'll say.
Enter Wingfield.
Adel.
Douglas must die.
Wing.
Your name, I think, is Adelaide?
Adel.
What then? It is.
Wing.
I thought it was; I heard it breathed by him
While in the dungeon of the Lune-side port:
After he was condemned,
He lay an hour there.
Adel.
O Douglas! Douglas! Douglas!
Wing.
And when drawn up, and led into the light,
Though at the first, the glaring sea of eyes
Seemed to confound him, soon as he discerned
These battlements,
To them his face continued, as he passed
Along, still turned; he only once looked round,
Eying on either side, with proud contempt,
The gazing roofs.
Adel.
Yes, he despises death;
His soul floats tranquil on the storm of fate,
As the heaved sea bird, with its wing-veiled head,
Sleeps reckless of the surge's rise or fall;
And shall I wish to save the life he scorns,
200
Wing.
Mark but the fateful stillness all around;
There's not one foot in the late bustling street;
Which seems as if a pestilence had swept
The human throng away: Both old and young
Are at the show; none but the bedrid absent:
There's not a crutch in Lancaster this day.
Look up—these ravens trooping to their quarry,
They wind their prey afar.
Mary.
Miscreant! thy words, far from appalling me
With the full marshalled horrors of this day,
They steel my heart; the dire reality
Daunteth not Douglas, and shall the description
Intimidate me into infamy?
Fran.
'Tis nobly said.
Wing.
Another word, and I will stab thee.
Mary.
And say that I had given my consent
To ransom Douglas with my reputation!—
Adel.
And have you given your consent—
Mary.
And say that I had given my consent
To perpetrate this perjury 'gainst myself;
How could I trust that such a man as this
Would show the thievish honesty to keep
The dear bought paction? No, he's self-absolved
Of every tie, both human and divine.
201
The extorted scroll, then with triumphant look,
Half smile, half grin, which fiends would vie in vain
To match, he'd laugh at my simplicity.
I dare thee, wretch, to do thy very worst.
Wing.
I will.
[Waves his hand.
Down—down—the white drops down; and see, the sign
Of blood ascends, and from its floating train
Sheds death.
[Trumpets heard at a distance.
Adel.
[As if waking from a stupor]
—Pardon! it is proclaimed—I heard it.
Wing.
None in these parts, save me, prossesses power
To pardon; no, that trumpet bays to drown
The rabble-rousing words of Douglas.
Adel.
O Mary, Mary!—Am I speaking to her?
Mary.
A secret indignation has dried up
All tears, all pity.
Adel.
My friend—my sister—myself!
Wing.
The blow is struck; fruitless were now your tears;
Your lowliest suit were vain; he gasps, he dies,
And now cut down half lifeless, falls:
The hangman's hand now revels in his breast,
And gropes to catch the fluttering heart; the heart
Eludes the grasp; aye, now he tears it out:
Now a sweet-smelling incense it sends up
202
Now, with tucked sleeve, the butcher hand is twisted
Into the traitor's locks, and now the head
Is held on high, convulsed, whilst thus a voice
Proclaims, So die our sovereign's enemies.
[Adelaide falls.
Fran.
What so relentless as a tyrant's malice!
It even survives the wretched victim's death:
'Tis like the raging of the infuriate waves,
Which, as if all unsated with the life
Of the poor mariner they've overwhelmed,
Still toss, and dash, and mangle his drowned corse
Upon the rugged rocks.
Wingfield stamps—Enter Guards.
Wing.
Drag in this traitorous priest,
And let him down into the deepest dungeon;
And, that he ne'er may from the bottom rise,
Load him with triple irons.
Mary.
O Adelaide, I have killed thee! Of all the woes
That Mary Stewart suffers, none is so bitter
As is the bitter thought, that she is still
The cause of ruin to her dearest friends.
Wing.
Your friends! no longer shall you have to say
I see the face of friend. Mark me; henceforth
203
Of life; she that lies there woe-stunned,
And you, must part; no longer shall ye plot
Escapes: To Bolton she must go, and you
To Fotheringay.—Imprisonment till death
Must be your doom. Ne'er shall the vernal gale
Play round your head:
Sighed through your window grate 'twill faintly fan
Your feverish temples, while mayhap you stretch
Your hand beyond the bars, and on it look
With envy, as it waves to feel the air.
Mary.
O Adelaide!
[Falls on her.
Adel.
[Recovering, delirious.]
Where is he laid? O lay me in his grave!
'Tis a sweet couch, 'tis downy soft.
Wing.
A grave!—look up, high up: Seest thou yon pinnacle
With fluttering shreds bedecked, the only relics,
Left by the ravens, of some rebel's fate?
Your Douglas' quartered arms shall there be blazoned.
[She dies.
Mary.
O that the Omnipotent had not denounced
A curse against self-murder.
Self-murder! No, there is another hand;
I see, I see it raised, though dim the view.
Misfortune such as mine inspires the soul
With powers prophetic. Yes, I now discern,
204
A scaffold close the dismal perspective.
Wing.
Bear her off.
Mary.
Bereave me miserable, if not of life,
Of reason; dash down the conscious power, and make
My soul a dream without an interval.
[Curtain falls.
| Poems | |