"I have borne it for seven years,
And I cannot bear it anymore.
Wherever the world was most beautiful,
There it was bleak and empty.
 
I shall come before him
In a servant's guise.
He cannot refuse my request;
I have grown old.
 
And if he should still nurture the old grudge,
Fresh as on the first day,
Then come what must come,
And come what may!"
 
Count Douglas says it.  By the wayside a rock
Invited him to hard rest.
He looked into the forest and the fields,
His eyes closed in slumber.
 
He wore a rusty and heavy suit of armour,
And over it a pilgrim's garb.
There, listen -- from the edge of the woods rang out
Sounds of horns and a hunting procession.
 
And gravel and dust thickly swirl about,
Pack and hunts men swiftly approach,
And before the Count can sit up,
Horses and riders are upon him.
 
King James sat on his high horse.
Count Douglas bowed low.
The blood shot into the King's cheeks,
But the Douglas called out:
 
"King James, look upon me with mercy,
Look upon me with patience.
What my brothers did to you
Was not my fault.
 
Think not of the old Douglas jealousy
That stubbornly fought against you;
Think rather of your childhood days,
When I dandled you on my knees.
 
Think rather of Stirling Castle,
Where I carved you toys,
Where I lifted you onto your father's horse,
And sharpened arrows for you.
 
Think rather of Linlithgow,
Of the lake and the bird breeding grounds
Where I taught you to fish and hunt happily,
And to swim and dive.
 
And think of everything that once was,
And calm your spirit.
For seven years I have atoned
For being a Douglas!"
 
"I see you not, Count Archibald,
I do not hear your voice.
It is as if a rustling in the woods
Tells of old times.
 
The rustling sounds sweet and familiar to me,
I still listen to it.
But amidst it there rings out loudly:
He is nevertheless a Douglas!
 
I see you not, I hear you not,
That is all I can do.
A Douglas before my face
Would be a doomed man!"
 
King James spurred his horse,
His ride continued uphill.
Count Douglas grasped his reins
And kept pace with the King.
 
The road was steep and the sun stabbed down,
His coat of armour was heavy.
But although he was close to collapsing,
He kept running beside him.
 
"King James, I was your seneschal.
I shall no longer be it.
I shall just give your horse water in the stable
And shake out some feed for him,
 
And prepare the straw for him
And give him to drink with my own hand --
Only let me once more breathe
The air of my fatherland.
 
And if you will not permit it, then take courage,
And I shall thank you for it:
Draw your sword and strike me accurately,
And let me die here!"
 
King James sprang from his horse,
His face shone brightly.
From the scabbard he drew his broad sword,
But he did not strike with it.
 
"Take it, take it and bear it once more
And guard my rest;
He is loyal deep in his heart
Who loves his home as dearly as you!
 
Mount!  We ride to Linlithgow,
And you shall ride by my side;
There we shall fish and hunt with joy,
As we did long ago!"