Читать книгу In the Saddle: A Collection of Poems on Horseback-Riding - Various - Страница 10

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!

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;

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;

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!

The panting steed, with a drooping crest,

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 check;

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!"