# The Poetical Works of William Motherwell/Lady Margaret

Lady Margaret.
I lay within the chamber lone Where the Lady Margaret died; And wildly there the midnight wind Like hapless spirit sighed.
I mused upon that peerless One, So beautiful of blee; And marvelled much of her sad death's Time-hallowed mystery: For, as a rainbow-tinted cloud, Smote by a gentle wind, Sails o'er the deep, slow paced and proud, Yet leaves no trace behind; Nor can conjecture index true Where one bright shadow lay, Till all has melted from the view, In nothingness away; So did that lady vanish quite, In her sad latter day!
It is a hundred years agone Since living limb did rest Within that chamber's chilling gloom, And rose a living guest! But many a brave and stately corpse Of lord and lady tall, Have here lain cold and motionless Ere their proud funeral: For no sound or sight, however strange, Can lifeless flesh appal. But ancient crones have noted well Of each corpse that lay there, That writhen was each ghastly limb, The eyelid opened wide, and grim Each cold dead eye did glare.
It is a hundred years agone, Even on this very night, Since, in this unsunned room, and lone, Reposed that lady bright— A miracle of loveliness— A very beam of light. Blythe dawns the morn—her bridal morn, And merry minstrels play;
The brisk bridegroom, and all his kin, Came trooping with a joyous din, In seemliest array. The bridegroom came, but ah! the bride Was missing and away! And of that gentle lady's fate None wot of till this day! And, since that night, all tenantless Of life hath been her room; Till even I did madly break Upon its sacred gloom.
It was a dull and eerie night Of wind and bitter sleet, When first that tomb-like chamber rung With the echoes of my feet; And on its narrow casements hard The hail and rain did beat, While through each crazed and time-worn chink The hollow wind did moan, As if a hundred harps were strung Within that chamber lone, And every minstrel there had been Some disembodied one!
But it is a lofty chamber, And passing rich withal When on its gilded mouldings huge The quivering moonbeams fall. And, ever and anon, in sooth, Even on that stormy night, Would some pale tempest-shattered ray Through the dim windows find its way— A very thread of light— To glimmer on the needlecraft And curious tapestry Which moulder on the walls,—brave scrolls Of dim antiquitye, Embodying many a qnaint device Of love and chivalrye.
Oh! it is a lofty chamber, But dull it is to see, In the dead pause of the deep midnight, When the faggots dying be, And nought but embers red Throw round a dubious gleam, Like the indistinct forthshadowings Of a sad and unquiet dream.
Then suddenly to wake from sleep, To gaze round that dim room We're sure to feel as one whose pulse Again beats in the tomb, Swelling with idle life and strength Within its stifling gloom.
'Twas even so that I awoke (Sure awake I could not be), Though with the life-likeness of waking truths Were all things clothed to me. 'Twas in terror I awoke Within that chamber dim; The sweat drop burst on my cold brow, Dull horror numbed each limb. In agony my temples beat, Life only throbbed there; And creeping cold, like living things, Stood up each clammy hair. It seemed as if a spell from hell Were drugg'd deep with the air; Yet wherefore should I fear, To me was all unknown; For that chamber was, as heretofore, Dim, desolate, and lone.
And I heard the angry winter's wind Still shrilly whistling by; I heard it stir the leafless trees, And heard their faint reply. While the ticking clock, right audibly, Did note time's passing sigh, And, like some dusky banner broad, Loud flapping in the breeze, The faded arras on the walls Sung its own exiquies.
Then, then, methought I heard a foot, It sounded soft and still; And slowly then it died away, Like echo on the hill, Or like the far faint murmuring Of a lone hermit rill. Again that footstep sounded near, Again it died away; And then I heard it gliding past The couch on which I lay! I raised my head, and wildly gazed Into the glimmering gloom; But nothing save the embers red,
That on the spacious hearth were spread. I saw within that room. And all was dusky round, Save where these embers shed A pale and sickly gleam of light On the Lady Margaret's bed. On the couch where I did lye That sickly light did shine With one bright flash, when, as a voice Did cry—"Revenge is mine!" Another answered straight, And said, "The hour is come!" I listened—but these voices twain For evermore were dumb. But again the still soft foot Came creeping stealthy on; And then, Oh God! mine ear upcaught A deep and stifled groan. It echoed through the lofty room So loud, so clear, and shrill, Methinks even to my dying-day I'll hear that echo still. Again that deep and smothered groan— That rattle in the throat—
That awful sob of struggling life— On my strained ear-strings smote. In desperate fear I madly strove To start from that witch'd bed, But on my breast there seem'd up-piled A mountain weight of lead. And when I strove to speak aloud, To dissipate that spell, I shuddered at the shapeless sounds That from mine own lips fell. 'Twas then, full filled with fear, I shut Mine eyes t' escape the gaze Of that dim chamber's arras'd walls, With their tales of other days, Lest ghastly shapes should start from them To sport in horrid glee Before my tortured sight—dark scenes Of their life's tragedy, And like exulting fiends proclaim How black man's heart can be.
But visionless scant space I lay With throbbing downshut lid, When o'er my brow and cheek, dear Lord! A clammy coldness slid.
O'er brow and cheek I felt it slide; And, like a frozen rill, The blood waxed thick within my veins, Grew pulseless, and stood still. O'er brow and cheek I felt it slide, So clammy and so cold, Like the touch of one whose lifeless limbs In winding-sheet are rolled. Straight upward did I look, and then From the thick obscurity— Oh, horrible! there downward gleamed Two glittering eyes on me. From the ceiling of that lofty room These glittering eyes did stare; They rested on me, under them, With a fixed and fearful glare. Oh, never human eyes did flash So wild and strange a light, As these twin eyes straight downward poured On that unhappy night. Their beams shot down like lances long, Unutterably bright. And still these glittering living lights Did steadfast gaze on me;
And each fibre of my heart shrunk up Beneath their sorcery. Still, still they gleam—their searching glance Has pierced into my brain. I feel the stream of fire pass through, I feel its cureless pain!
One moment seemed to pass, and then My vision waxed more clear And livelier to my spell-fraught sight, These blazing eyes appear. As with unholy light they lit A pallid cheek and brow, And quivered on a lip as cold And blenched as driven snow. And I did gaze on that pale brow, And on that lovesome check; I watched those cold part-opened lips, Methought that they would speak; But motionless, and void of life As monumental stone, Was every feature, save those eyes, That evermore out shone With a fearful lustre, that to life On earth, is never known.
That face was all a deadly white, Yet beautiful to see; And indistinctly floated down Its body's symmetry, In ample folds and wimples quaint Of gorgeous drapery. And gleaming forth, like spots of snow On a sad coloured field, A small white hand on either side Was partially revealed. O'er me a deeper horror, A marvellous rush of light— Long-perished memories returned Upon that dreadful night. I heard the voice of other times, The tale of other years, Re-acted were their direst crimes, Re-shed their bitterest tears!