XXI.
The Castle gates were open flung,
The quivering drawbridge rock’d and rung,
And echo’d loud the flinty street
Beneath the coursers’ clattering feet,
As slowly down the steep descent
Fair Scotland’s King and nobles went,
While all along the crowded way
Was jubilee and loud huzza.
And ever James was bending low,
To his white jennet’s[303] saddlebow,
Doffing his cap to city dame,
Who smiled and blush’d for pride and shame.
And well the simperer might be vain,—
He chose the fairest of the train.
Gravely he greets each city sire,
Commends each pageant’s quaint attire,
Gives to the dancers thanks aloud,
And smiles and nods upon the crowd,
Who rend the heavens with their acclaims,—
“Long live the Commons’ King,[304] King James!”
Behind the King throng’d peer and knight,
And noble dame, and damsel bright,
Whose fiery steeds ill brook’d the stay
Of the steep street and crowded way.
—But in the train you might discern
Dark lowering brow, and visage stern:
There nobles mourn’d their pride restrain’d,
And the mean burgher’s joys disdain’d;
And chiefs, who, hostage for their clan,
Were each from home a banish’d man,
There thought upon their own gray tower,
Their waving woods, their feudal power,
And deem’d themselves a shameful part
Of pageant which they cursed in heart.