'T was a wind-wild eve in February, And against the casement-pane The branches smote like summoning hands And muttered the driving rain. And when the wind swooped over the lift And made the whole heaven frown, It seemed a grip was laid on the walls To tug the housetop down. And the Queen was there, more stately fair Than a lily in garden set; And the King was loth to stir from her side; For as on the day when she was his bride, Even so he loved her yet. And the Earl of Athole, the King's false friend, Sat with him at the board; And Robert Stuart the chamberlain Who had sold his sovereign Lord. Yet the traitor Christopher Chaumber there Would fain have told him all, And vainly four times that night he strove To reach the King through the hall. But the wine is bright at the goblet's brim Though the poison lurk beneath; And the apples still are red on the tree Within whose shade may the adder be That shall turn thy life to death. There was a knight of the King's fast friends Whom he called the King of Love; And to such bright cheer and courtesy That name might best behove. And the King and Queen both loved him well For his gentle knightliness; And with him the King, as that eve wore on, Was playing at the chess. And the King said (for he thought to jest And soothe the Queen thereby), "In a book 'tis writ that this same year A King shall in Scotland die. "And I have pondered the matter o'er, And this have I found, Sir Hugh, There are but two Kings on Scotish ground, And those Kings are I and you. "And I have a wife and a newborn heir, And you are yourself alone; So stand you stark at my side with me To guard our double throne." "For here sit I and my wife and child, As well your heart shall approve, In full surrender and soothfastness, Beneath your Kingdom of Love." And the Knight laughed, and the Queen, too, smiled; But I knew her heavy thought, And I strove to find in the good King's jest What cheer might thence be wrought. And I said, "My Liege, for the Queen's dear love Now sing the song that of old You made, when a captive Prince you lay, And the nightingale sang sweet on the spray, In Windsor's castle-hold." Then he smiled the smile I knew so well When he thought to please the Queen; The smile which under all bitter frowns Of hate that rose between, For ever dwelt at the poet's heart Like the bird of love unseen. And he kissed her hand and took his harp, And the music sweetly rang; And when the song burst forth, it seemed 'T was the nightingale that sang.