And oft would Ellen Lufra’s neck
In maiden glee with garlands deck;
They were such playmates that with name
Of Lufra Ellen’s image came. 
His stifled wrath is brimming high,
In darkened brow and flashing eye;
As waves before the bark divide,
The crowd gave way before his stride;
Needs but a buffet and no more,
The groom lies senseless in his gore. 
Such blow no other hand could deal,
Though gauntleted in glove of steel.

XXVI.

Then clamored loud the royal train,
And brandished swords and staves amain,
But stern the Baron’s warning: 
’Back!  Back, on your lives, ye menial pack! 
Beware the Douglas.—­Yes! behold,
King James!  The Douglas, doomed of old,
And vainly sought for near and far,
A victim to atone the war,
A willing victim, now attends,
Nor craves thy grace but for his friends.—­’
’Thus is my clemency repaid? 
Presumptuous Lord!’ the Monarch said: 
’Of thy misproud ambitious clan,
Thou, James of Bothwell, wert the man,
The only man, in whom a foe
My woman-mercy would not know;
But shall a Monarch’s presence brook
Injurious blow and haughty look?—­
What ho! the Captain of our Guard! 
Give the offender fitting ward.—­
Break off the sports!’—­for tumult rose,
And yeomen ’gan to bend their bows,
‘Break off the sports!’ he said and frowned,
‘And bid our horsemen clear the ground.’

XXVII.

Then uproar wild and misarray
Marred the fair form of festal day. 
The horsemen pricked among the crowd,
Repelled by threats and insult loud;
To earth are borne the old and weak,
The timorous fly, the women shriek;
With flint, with shaft, with staff, with bar,
The hardier urge tumultuous war. 
At once round Douglas darkly sweep
The royal spears in circle deep,
And slowly scale the pathway steep,
While on the rear in thunder pour
The rabble with disordered roar
With grief the noble Douglas saw
The Commons rise against the law,
And to the leading soldier said: 
’Sir John of Hyndford, ’twas my blade
That knighthood on thy shoulder laid;
For that good deed permit me then
A word with these misguided men.—­

XXVIII,

’Hear, gentle friends, ere yet for me
Ye break the bands of fealty. 
My life, my honour, and my cause,
I tender free to Scotland’s laws. 
Are these so weak as must require
’Fine aid of your misguided ire? 
Or if I suffer causeless wrong,
Is then my selfish rage so strong,
My sense of public weal so low,
That, for mean vengeance on a foe,
Those cords of love I should unbind
Which knit my country and my kind? 
O no!  Believe, in yonder tower
It will not soothe my captive hour,
To know those spears our foes should dread