Page:Songs, Legends, and Ballads.djvu/309

Rh And soon he stood alone within the place, Their new-made king,—their king with pallid face, Their king with strange foreboding and unrest, And half-formed thoughts, like dreams, within his breast. Like Moses' rod, that mother's cry of woe Had struck for water; but the fitful flow That weakly welled and streamed did seem to mock Before it died forever on the rock.

The sun rose o'er the forest, and his light Made still more dreamlike all the evil night. Day streamed his glory down the aisles' dim arch, All hushed and shadowy like a pillared church; And through the lonely bush no living thing Was seen, save now and then a garish wing Of bird low-flying on its silent way.

But woful searchers spent the weary day In anxious dread, and found not what they sought,—