Bothwell A Poem In Six Parts: By William Edmondstoune Aytoun: Third Edition, Revised |
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| X. | X. |
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| XVII. |
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 | Bothwell |  |
X.
I stood that night in Darnley's room,Above the chamber charged with death;
At every sound that rose below
There was a catching in my breath.
The aspect of the boy was sad,
For he was weak, and wrung with pain;
Weary he lay upon the bed,
From which he never rose again.
I saw his brow so pale and damp,
I saw his cheek so thin and spare—
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O wherefore did I seek him there?
He lay, indeed, a dying man,
His minutes numbered, marked, and spanned;
With every ticking of the clock
There fell a priceless grain of sand.
Yet over him an angel bent,
And soothed his pain, and wiped his brow—
So fair, so kind, so innocent,
That all hell's tortures to me now
Could scarce be worse than what I felt
Within that thrice-accursed room!
No heart so hard that will not melt
When love stands weeping o'er the tomb.
O had I hellebore for that—
That one damn'd hour!—I'd count me blest;
So would I banish from my couch
The direst phantom of unrest!
| Bothwell | |