For none were in the castle then, With eyes scarce dried, the sorrowing dame, Her son, a strippling twelve years old, For each man, that could draw a sword, Of hated Bothwell stained their fame. And here two days did Marmion rest, Such the command of royal James; Crichtoun Castle. Here while they dwelt, did Lindesay's wit Oft cheer the Baron's moodier fit; And, in his turn, he knew to prize Lord Marmion's powerful mind and wiseTrained in the lore of Rome and Greece, And policies of war and peace. It chanced, as fell the second night, That on the battlements they walked, And, by the slowly fading light, Of varying topics talked; And, unaware, the Herald-bard Said Marmion might his toil have spared, In travelling so far; For that a messenger from heaven In vain to James had counsel given And, closer questioned, thus he told In Scottish story have enrolled :— "OF all the palaces so fair, Built for the royal dwelling, And in its park, in jovial June, How sweet the merry linnet's tune, Sir David Lindesay's Tale. How blithe the blackbird's lay! The saddest heart might pleasure take But June is to our Sovereign dear King James's June is ever spent. 66 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 And eyes with sorrow streaming; Around him, in their stalls of state, I too was there, and, sooth to tell, His simple majesty of face, His solemn bearing, and his pace So stately gliding 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. "He stepped before the Monarch's chair, And stood with rustic plainness there, And little reverence made; |