In vain to James had counsel given Against the English war: And, closer question’d, thus he told A tale, which chronicles of old In Scottish story have enroll’d:
XV.
Sir David Lindsey’s Tale.‘Of all the palaces so fair, Built for the royal dwelling, In Scotland, far beyond compare Linlithgow is excelling;And in its park, in jovial June, How sweet the merry linnet’s tune, How blithe the blackbird’s lay! The wild buck bells from ferny brake, The coot dives merry on the lake, The saddest heart might pleasure take To see all nature gay.But June is to our Sovereign dear The heaviest month in all the year: Too well his cause of grief you know, June saw his father’s overthrow.Woe to the traitors, who could bring The princely boy against his King! Still in his conscience burns the sting.In offices as strict as Lent, King James’s June is ever spent.
XVI.
‘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, The chanters sung, the bells did toll, The Bishop mass was saying-For now the year brought round again The day the luckless King was slain- In Katharine’s aisle the monarch knelt, With sackcloth-shirt, and iron belt, And eyes with sorrow streaming; Around him in their stalls of state, The Thistle’s Knight-Companions sate, Their banners o’er them beaming.I too was there, and, sooth to tell, Bedeafen’d with the jangling knell, Was watching where the sunbeams fell, Through the stain’d casement gleaming; But, while I mark’d what next befell, It seem’d as I were dreaming.Stepp’d from the crowd a ghostly wight, In azure gown, with cincture white; His forehead bald, his head was bare, Down hung at length his yellow hair.-Now, mock me not, when, good my Lord, I pledge to you my knightly word, That, when I saw his placid grace, His simple majesty of face, His solemn bearing, and his pace So stately gliding on,- Seem’d to me ne’er did limner paint So just an image of the Saint, Who propp’d the Virgin in her faint,- The loved Apostle John!
