Page:Once a Week Volume 8.djvu/665

6, 1863.] Oh, haste thee, King: the gold-haired Page Is by thy daughter’s side; She, in his arms, forgets thy rage, The world, and all beside.

Down by the castle of the King Two ride along the shore; On high the winds their storm-notes sing, The waves advancing roar.

Then to the Page in accents dread These words the King thus speaks: Who gave thee, friend, that rose-bud red, That rose thy hat safe keeps?”

My mother gave me this red rose When she farewell did say; In water every night it blows, To bloom afresh next day.”

Further along the winding creek Still ride they side by side; The sea-gulls flying wildly shriek, Moans the advancing tide.

When thus the King: “Boy, tell me true, Whose is that lock of hair, Which, as aside thy mantle flew, Lay on thy bosom bare?”

That is my sister’s light brown hair, ’Tis sweet as rose’s scent, With softest silk it might compare, She wept as thence I went.”

Up the steep rock their path now lay, Where, carved in letters rude, Are Runic rhymes of olden days. When thus, in savage mood,

A third time spake the wrathful King: “Rash boy, oh tell to me, Who gave thee that bright golden ring I on thy finger see?”

She who gave me this golden ring Her heart likewise she gives; And she’s the fairest maid, Sir King, Who in thy kingdom lives.”

Then, red with anger, cried the King, His eyes with fury burn: That ring—it is my daughter’s ring, It’sIts [sic] sparkle I discern.

And if, indeed, with wanton love Thou’st dared my child to woo, Thy youthful life no plea shall prove, In death thy crime thou’lt rue.”

Then to his heart with weapon keen He smote him—nought can save; His blood the Runic stones between Flows downwards to the waves.

Into the sea he did him fling: “And, since thou aim’st so high, Go, seek the haunts where mermaids sing, To win their queen, go try!”

To the King’s castle by the shore One horseman rode alone, Whilst out to sea a body bore The waves with ceaseless moan.

The Runic stones one summer night Saw the mermaidens play: Midst rippling waters, breezes light, And moon in heaven which lay.

They laugh, they splash, their arms they lave ’Mongst water-lilies fair, Their golden locks float on the wave, Glisten their white limbs bare.

A sedgy bearded merman, through A horn of mussel-shell Blows blasts to call the giddy crew, But nought their mirth can quell.

Then cried the youngest, laughing low, “Ah, see what I have here! A gleaming body white as snow, Or silver shining clear.

Upon a coral reef it lay, I found it as I dived, Twas tangled in a branching spray: Say, what can be contrived!”

Around the body in a ring They troop—their Queen thus spake: So fair and fine this new-found thing, A harp of it we’ll make.

Come, old Sedge-Beard, my trusty friend, Thou’rt wise in all things strange; A swordfish thee for horse I’ll send, So thou wilt work this change.”

The merman comes, the body takes, He labours sure and slow; The pegs he of the fingers makes, Of the breast-bone the bow.

He takes the Queen’s bright golden hair, And with it makes the strings; And soon the summer night-winds bear Strange sounds upon their wings.

The harp he strikes with chords so clear, The waves forget to moan, The breezes hold their breath to hear That soft and wondrous tone.

The seamews settle on the strand, The gold-fish swim around, The winds and waters trancéd stand, All charmed by that sweet sound.

The merman sings and plays all night, Fatigue he doth not feel; The mermaids dance, till morn’s red light, In many a graceful wheel.

The lamps flash in the King’s high hall, The flutes and viols play; The King’s fair daughter leads the ball, For ’tis her marriage day.

A myrtle wreath is on her head, But ne’er a word she speaks; Upon her breast are roses red, But white as death her cheeks.

All richly clad, with lordly air, A Prince stands by her side; But, oh! ten thousand times more fair The Page who for her died.

To pass the wine, twelve maidens stand Around the board of gold, And Pages swarm on every hand, Who wreaths and torches hold.

When suddenly the lights dim burn, The viols cease to play, And from his throne the King speaks stern, “What means this silence?—say.”