But Love was weeping outside the house, A child in the piteous rain; And as he watched the arrow of Death, He wailed for his own shafts close in the sheath That never should fly again. And now beneath the window arose A wild voice suddenly: And the King reared straight, but the Queen fell back As for bitter dule to dree; And all of us knew the woman's voice Who spoke by the Scotish Sea. "O King," she cried, "in an evil hour They drove me from thy gate; And yet my voice must rise to thine ears; But alas! it comes too late! "Last night at mid-watch, by Aberdour, When the moon was dead in the skies, O King, in a death-light of thine own I saw thy shape arise. "And in full season, as erst I said, The doom had gained its growth; And the shroud had risen above thy neck And covered thine eyes and mouth. "And no moon woke, but the pale dawn broke, And still thy soul stood there; And I thought its silence cried to my soul As the first rays crowned its hair. "Since then have I journeyed fast and fain In very despite of Fate, Lest Hope might still be found in God's will: But they drove me from thy gate. "For every man on God's ground, O King, His death grows up from his birth In the shadow-plant perpetually; And thine towers high, a black yew-tree, O'er the Charterhouse of Perth!" That room was built far out from the house; And none but we in the room Might hear the voice that rose beneath, Nor the tread of the coming doom. For now there came a torchlight-glare, And a clang of arms there came; And not a soul in that space but thought Of the foe Sir Robert Græme. Yea, from the country of the Wild Scots, O'er mountain, valley, and glen, He had brought with him in murderous league Three hundred armèd men. The King knew all in an instant's flash, And like a King did he stand; But there was no armour in all the room, Nor weapon lay to his hand. And all we women flew to the door And thought to have made it fast; But the bolts were gone and the bars were gone And the locks were riven and brast. And he caught the pale pale Queen in his arms As the iron footsteps fell, Then loosed her, standing alone, and said, "Our bliss was our farewell!" And 'twixt his lips he murmured a prayer, And he crossed his brow and breast; And proudly in royal hardihood Even so with folded arms he stood-- The prize of the bloody quest. Then on me leaped the Queen like a deer: "O Catherine, help!" she cried. And low at his feet we clasped his knees Together side by side. "Oh! even a King, for his people's sake, From treasonous death must hide!"