| |
| WORD was brought to the Danish king, | |
| Hurry! | |
| That the love of his heart lay suffering, | |
| And pined for the comfort his voice would bring; | |
| O, ride as though you were flying! | 5 |
| Better he loves each golden curl | |
| On the brow of that Scandinavian girl | |
| Than his rich crown jewels of ruby and pearl; | |
| And his rose of the isles is dying! | |
| |
| Thirty nobles saddled with speed; | 10 |
| Hurry! | |
| Each one mounting a gallant steed | |
| Which he kept for battle and days of need; | |
| O, ride as though you were flying! | |
| Spurs were struck in the foaming flank; | 15 |
| Worn-out chargers staggered and sank; | |
| Bridles were slackened, and girths were burst; | |
| But ride as they would, the king rode first, | |
| For his rose of the isles lay dying! | |
| |
| His nobles are beaten, one by one; | 20 |
| Hurry! | |
| They have fainted, and faltered, and homeward gone; | |
| His little fair page now follows alone, | |
| For strength and for courage trying! | |
| The king looked back at that faithful child; | 25 |
| Wan was the face that answering smiled; | |
| They passed the drawbridge with clattering din, | |
| Then he dropped; and only the king rode in | |
| Where his rose of the isles lay dying! | |
| |
| The king blew a blast on his bugle-horn; | 30 |
| Silence! | |
| No answer came; but faint and forlorn | |
| An echo returned on the cold gray morn, | |
| Like the breath of a spirit sighing. | |
| The castle portal stood grimly wide; | 35 |
| None welcomed the king from that weary ride; | |
| For dead, in the light of the dawning day, | |
| The pale sweet form of the welcomer lay, | |
| Who had yearned for his voice while dying! | |
| |
| The panting steed, with a drooping crest, | 40 |
| Stood weary. | |
| The king returned from her chamber of rest, | |
| The thick sobs choking in his breast; | |
| And, that dumb companion eying, | |
| The tears gushed forth which he strove to cheek; | 45 |
| He bowed his head on his charger’s neck: | |
| “O steed, that every nerve didst strain, | |
| Dear steed, our ride hath been in vain | |
| To the halls where my love lay dying!” | |
| |
