The offended Monarch rode apart, With bitter thought and swelling heart, And would not now vouchsafe again Through Stirling streets to lead his train. 'O Lennox, who would wish to rule This changeling crowd, this common fool? Hear'st thou,' he said, 'the loud acclaim With which they shout the Douglas name? With like acclaim the vulgar throat Strained for King James their morning note; With like acclaim they hailed the day When first I broke the Douglas sway; And like acclaim would Douglas greet If he could hurl me from my seat. Who o'er the herd would wish to reign, Fantastic, fickle, fierce, and vain? Vain as the leaf upon the stream, And fickle as a changeful dream; Fantastic as a woman's mood, And fierce as Frenzy's fevered blood. Thou many-headed monster-thing, O who would wish to be thy king?-- XXXI.. 'But soft! what messenger of speed Spurs hitherward his panting steed? I guess his cognizance afar-- What from our cousin, John of Mar?' 'He prays, my liege, your sports keep bound Within the safe and guarded ground; For some foul purpose yet unknown,-- Most sure for evil to the throne,-- The outlawed Chieftain, Roderick Dhu, Has summoned his rebellious crew; 'Tis said, in James of Bothwell's aid These loose banditti stand arrayed. The Earl of Mar this morn from Doune To break their muster marched, and soon Your Grace will hear of battle fought; But earnestly the Earl besought, Till for such danger he provide, With scanty train you will not ride.' XXXII. 'Thou warn'st me I have done amiss,-- I should have earlier looked to this; I lost it in this bustling day.-- Retrace with speed thy former way; Spare not for spoiling of thy steed, The best of mine shall be thy meed. Say to our faithful Lord of Mar, We do forbid the intended war; Roderick this morn in single fight Was made our prisoner by a knight, And Douglas hath himself and cause Submitted to our kingdom's laws. The tidings of their leaders lost Will soon dissolve the mountain host, Nor would we that the vulgar feel, For their Chief's crimes, avenging steel. Bear Mar our message, Braco, fly!' He turned his steed,--'My liege, I hie, Yet ere I cross this lily lawn I fear the broadswords will be drawn.' The turf the flying courser spurned, And to his towers the King returned. XXXIII.