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IRISH SONGS AND LYRICS 191 |
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Thirty nobles saddled with speed,
(Hurry!) Each one mounting a gallant steed Which he kept for the battle and days of need ;
(Oh ! ride as though you were flying !) Spurs were struck in the foaming flank; 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;
(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 ; 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;
(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; 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 ! |
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