Classic Poem

KING James to royal Stirling town
Was riding from the chase,
When he was ware of a banished man
Returned without his grace.

The man stood forward from the crowd
In act to make appeal;
Said James, but in no pleasant tone,
‘Yonder is my Grey-steel’

He knew him not by his attire,
Which was but poor in plight;
He knew him not by his brown curls,
For they were turned to white;

He knew him not by followers,
For want had made them strange;
He knew him by his honest look,
Which time could never change.

Kilspindie was a Douglas bold,
Who, when the king was young,
Had pleased him like the grim Grey-steel,
Of whom sweet verse is sung?

Had pleased him by his sword that cropped
The knights of their renown,
And by a foot so fleet and firm,
No horse could tire it down.

But James hath sworn an angry oath,
That as he was King crowned,
No Douglas evermore should set
His foot on Scottish ground.

Too bold had been the Douglas race,
Too haughty and too strong;
Only Kilspindie of them all
Had never done him wrong.

‘A boon! a boon!’ Kilspindie cried;
‘Pardon that here am I:
In France I have grown old and sad,
In Scotland I would die.’

Kilspindie knelt, Kilspindie bent,
His Douglas pride was gone;
The King he neitherspoke nor looked,
But sternly rode straight on.

Kilspindie rose, and pace for pace
Held on beside the train,
His cap in hand, his looks in hope,
His heart in doubt and pain.

Before them lay proud Stirling hill,
The way grew steep and strong;
The King shook bridle suddenly,
And up swept all the throng.

Kilspindie said within himself,
‘He thinks of Auld Lang Syne,
And wishes pleasantly to see
What strength may still be mine.’

On rode the court, Kilspindie ran,
His smile grew half distressed;
There wasn't a man in that company,
Save one, but wished him rest.

Still on they rode, and still ran he,
His breath he scarce could get;
There wasn't a man in that company,
Save one, with eyes unwet.

The King has entered Stirling town,
Nor ever graced him first;
Kilspindie sat him down, and asked
Some water for his thirst

But they had marked the monarch's face,
And how he kept his pride:
And old Kilspindie in his need
Is water's self denied.

Ten weeks thereafter, severed still
From Scotland's dear embrace,
Kilspindie died of broken heart,
Sped by that cruel race.

Ten years thereafter, his last breath
King James as sadly drew;
And though he died of many thoughts,
Kilspindie crossed him too.