'He stepp'd before the Monarch's chair,
And stood with rustic plainness there,
And little reverence made; 340
Nor head, nor body, bow'd nor bent,
But on the desk his arm he leant,
And words like these he said,
In a low voice,--but never tone
So thrill'd through vein, and nerve, and bone:--
"My mother sent me from afar, 346
Sir King, to warn thee not to war,--
Woe waits on thine array;
If war thou wilt, of woman fair,
Her witching wiles and wanton snare, 350
James Stuart, doubly warn'd, beware:
God keep thee as He may!"--
The wondering monarch seem'd to seek
For answer, and found none;
And when he raised his head to speak, 355
The monitor was gone.
The Marshal and myself had cast
To stop him as he outward pass'd;
But, lighter than the whirlwind's blast,
He vanish'd from our eyes, 360
Like sunbeam on the billow cast,
That glances but, and dies.'