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But as he stood there, presently
With smiling face she drew anigh,
And on his face he felt her breath.
“O love,” she said, “dost thou fear death?
Not till next morning shalt thou die,
Or fall into thy misery.”
Then on his hand her hand did fall,
And forth she led him down the hall,
Going full softly by his side.
“O love,” she said, “now well betide
The day whereon thou cam’st to me.
I would this night a year might be,
Yea, life-long; such life as we have,
A thousand years from womb to grave.”

And then that clinging hand seemed worth
Whatever joy was left on earth,
And every trouble he forgot,
And time and death remembered not:
Kinder she grew, she clung to him
With loving arms, her eyes did swim
With love and pity, as he strove
To show the wisdom of his love;
With trembling lips she praised his choice,
And said, “Ah, well may’st thou rejoice,
Well may’st thou think this one short night
Worth years of other men’s delight.
If thy heart as mine own heart is,
Sunk in a boundless sea of bliss;
O love, rejoice with me! rejoice!”
But as she spoke, her honied voice
Trembled, and midst of sobs she said,
“O love, and art thou still afraid?
Return, then, to thine happiness,
Nor will I love thee any less;
But watch thee as a mother might
Her child at play.”
With strange delight
He stammered out, “Nay, keep thy tears
for me, and for my ruined years
Weep love, that I may love thee more,
My little hour will soon be o’er.”
“Ah, love,” she said, “and thou art wise
As men are, with long miseries
Buying these idle words and vain,
My foolish love, with lasting pain;
And yet, thou wouldst have died at last
If in all wisdom thou hadst passed
Thy weary life: forgive me then,
In pitying the sad life of men.”
Then in such bliss his soul did swim,
But tender music unto him
Her words were; death and misery
But empty names were grown to be,
As from that place his steps she drew,
And dark the hall behind them grew.

* * * * *

But end comes to all earthly bliss,
And by his choice full short was his;
And in the morning, grey and cold,
Beside the dais did she hold
His trembling hand, and wistfully
He, doubting what his fate should be,
Gazed at her solemn eyes, that now,
Beneath her calm, untroubled brow,
Were fixed on his wild face and wan;
At last she said, “Oh, hapless man,
Depart! thy full wish hast thou had;
A little time thou hast been glad,
Thou shalt be sorry till thou die.
“And though, indeed, full fain am I
This might not be; nathless, as day
Night follows, colourless and grey,
So this shall follow thy delight,
Your joy hath ending with last night–
Nay, peace, and hearken to thy fate.
“Strife without peace, early and late,
Lasting long after thou art dead,
And laid with earth upon thine head;
War without victory shalt thou have,
Defeat, nor honour shalt thou save;
Thy fair land shall be rent and torn,
Thy people be of all forlorn,
And all men curse thee for this thing.”
She loosed his hand, but yet the King
Said, “Yea, and I may go with thee?
Why should we part? then let things be
E’en as they will!” “Poor man,” she said,
“Thou ravest; our hot love is dead,
If ever it had any life:
Go, make thee ready for the strife
Wherein thy days shall soon be wrapped;
And of the things that here have happed
Make thou such joy as thou may’st do;
But I from this place needs must go,
Nor shalt thou ever see me more
Until thy troubled life is o’er:
Alas I to say ‘farewell’ to thee
Were nought but bitter mockery.
Fare as thou may’st, and with good heart
Play to the end thy wretched part.”