James and Mary Ford, eds. Every Day in the Year. 1902.
March 9The Murder of Riccio
By William E. Aytoun (1813–1865)
’T
The wind, as now, was rude,
And I was lonely in my room
In dreary Holyrood.
I heard a cry, a tramp of men,
A clash of steel below,
And from my window, in the court
I saw the torches glow.
More common were such sounds to me
Than hum of evening hymn;
I caught my sword, and hurried out
Along the passage dim.
But O, the shriek that thrilled me then—
The accents of despair,
The man’s imploring agony,
The woman’s frantic prayer!
“O, for the love of God and Christ,
Have mercy—mercy—I!
O mistress—Queen—protect me yet,
I am not fit to die!”
“O God! stand by me, Darnley—you—
My husband! will you see
Black murder in my presence here!
O God! he turns from me!
Back—villains, back! you shall not strike,
Unless you slay me too.
O help! help! help! they kill the Queen!
Help! help! O nobles—you—
O Ruthven—Douglas—as you trust
For mercy in your need,
For Christ’s dear sake, be satisfied—
Do not this monstrous deed!
I’ll yield—O yes! I’ll break with France,
Do anything you will,
But spare him—spare him—spare him, friends!
Why should you seek to kill?
O God! unloose me, Darnley! shame!
Let go my arm, thou knave!
To me—to me—all Scottish hearts—
Help! Murder! Come and save!”
Ruthven in mail complete,
George Douglas, Ker of Fawdonside,
And Riccio at their feet.
With rapiers drawn and pistols bent,
They seized their wretched prey;
They wrenched her garments from his grasp,
They stabbed him where he lay.
I saw George Douglas raise his arm,
I saw his dagger gleam;
And then I heard the dying yell,
And Mary’s piteous scream.
I saw her writhe in Darnley’s arms
As in a serpent’s fold—
The coward! he was pale as death,
But would not loose his hold!
And then the torches waved and shook,
And louder grew the din,
And up the stair, and through the doors
The rest came trooping in.
What could I do? No time was that
To listen or to wait;
Thronged were the rooms with furious men,
And close beset the gate.
Morton and Lindsay kept the court,
With many a deadly foe;
And swords are swift to do their work
When blood begins to flow.
Darkling I traced the passage back
As swiftly as I came,
For through the din that rose without
I heard them shout my name.
Enough!—that night one victim died
Before Queen Mary’s face,
And in my heart, I doomed that night
Another in his place.
Not that I cared for Riccio’s life,
They might have worked their will;
Though base it was in men so high
A helpless wretch to kill.
But I had seen my Queen profaned,
Outraged before my face,
By him, the dastard, heartless boy,
The land’s and our disgrace.
’Twas he devised the felon plot—
’Twas he that planned the crime—
He led the murderers to her room—
And—God—at what a time!
I was a witness on that night
Of all his shame and guilt;
I saw his outrage on the Queen,
I saw the blood he spilt;
And, ere the day had dawned, I swore,
Whilst spurring through the sand,
I would avenge that treachery,
And slay him with my hand—
Or, in the preachers’ cherished phrase,
Would purge him from the land!