 | Legends of the isles and Highland Gatherings |  |
95
THE KING'S SON.
I
“Why so sorrowful, my son?Why so pallid and distress'd?
Why that look so woe-begone?
And that heaving of the breast?
Hast not wealth enough to spend
On the joys thou lovest best?”
II
“I have wealth enough to spend—All thy jewels and thy gold,
All that usurers could lend,
Piled before me fifty-fold,
Could not ease me of the pain
That consumes me uncontroll'd.”
III
“Could not ease thee of thy pain?Art thou longing for the hour
When thy sire shall cease to reign,
And thine enemies shall cower?
Art thou longing for my crown,
And my sceptre and my power?”
96
IV
“No!—I care not for thy crown,Nor thy sceptre, nor thy state,
Could my wishes cast thee down,
Thou shouldst flourish high and great;
But thou'st done me mortal wrong—
And hast changed my love to hate.
V
“Thou hast done me mortal wrong—Thou, so feeble, old, and gray—
Thou, so weak, whilst I am strong,—
Thou hast stolen my bride away,
And art rival of thy son,
In the waning of thy day:
VI
Art the rival of thy sonFor a maid that he adored;—
Hast her trusting heart undone,
Though she wept and she implored;—
But she hates thee as do I,
Thou voluptuous—thou abhorr'd!
VII
“But she hates thee as do I,O thou rust upon the steel!
O thou cloud upon the sky!
O thou poison at the meal!
Who hast changed our joy to woe,
Which no time can ever heal!
97
VIII
“Who hast changed our joy to woe,Bringing blight upon her heart—
Bringing tears that, as they flow,
Burn the eyeballs where they start:
Buying beauty for a price,
Like a jewel in the mart.
IX
“Buying beauty for a price,When the priceless gem was mine;
When thy blood is cold as ice,
Nor can warm with love or wine,—
Trying vainly to be young,
And to kneel at beauty's shrine.
X
“Trying vainly to be young,When thy limbs with palsy shake,
And to woo with flattering tongue,
When for Jesus' blessed sake
Thou shouldst make thy peace with God,
Ere the grave thy body take!”
XI
Fiercely flash'd the old king's eye—To his forehead rush'd the blood—
And the veins were swollen high
By the anger-driven flood;
But his tongue refused to speak,
And he trembled where he stood.
98
XII
But his tongue refused to speakAll the madness of his brain;
From his eyes it seem'd to reek,
On his lips it curl'd in pain;
In each feature of his face,
Swell'd in anger and disdain.
XIII
In each feature of his faceShone a moment, like a fire,
But no longer: from his place
Falling, conquer'd by his ire,
Senseless on the ground he lay,
Struck by apoplexy dire.
XIV
O'er him bent his sorrowing son,Weeping tears of bitter woe,
For the ill his words had done
To his father lying low,
With his venerable head,
And his long hair white as snow.
XV
And that venerable head,Burning, throbbing, up he raised
On his knees, as on a bed,
And till succour came, still gazed
On that pain-distorted cheek,
Awed, remorseful, and amazed.
99
XVI
Awed, remorseful, and heart-sore,But with courage calm and kind,
To his couch his sire he bore,
Deep repentance in his mind;
And for many a weary day
Watch'd him, patient and resign'd.
XVII
And for many a weary day,And for many a dreary night,
Watch'd beside him as he lay—
Senseless—speechless—hopeless quite.
Until sense, one day, return'd
Like a sudden flash of light.
XVIII
Like a flash of light it came;And his son beside him knelt,
Grasp'd his hand and breathed his name,
And the sorrow that he felt
Whisper'd lowly, and implored
That forgiveness might be dealt.
XIX
Whisper'd lowly, and implored—“Oh, forgive me, sire,” he said—
“I am sad and self-abhorr'd—
I have wrong'd thine aged head,
I have mock'd thy hoary hair,
Impulse-driven and passion-led.
100
XX
“I have mock'd the hoary hairOf a sire that loved me well,
But when goaded to despair,
Youthful passion will rebel:
And I loved this lovely maid
More than tongue can ever tell.
XXI
“God forgive me and the maid!At her feet I breathed my sighs—
Doated on her, vow'd and pray'd—
Drew existence from her eyes,
Thought her love a light from heaven,
And her smile a paradise.
XXII
“Thought her love a light from heaven,And her form its purest shrine,
And my being only given
That with hers it might entwine
Heart and soul and every sense,
Mine with hers and hers with mine.
XXIII
“Heart and soul through every sense,One as long as life should last,
One desire, one love intense—
In one mould of fortune cast;
Undivided in our love,
E'en if life itself were past.
101
XXIV
“Undivided—oh, that thought!Thou, O father! came between,
For thy wife my bride thou sought—
Woo'd this maid to be a queen,
Never asking, in thy pride,
What her agony might mean.
XXV
“Never asking, in thy pride,If she loved thee!”—“Oh, my son!”
Stung with grief, the father cried,
“Pardon what thy sire has done;
Ere this night I'll give thee back
Her thou hast not lost, but won.
XXVI
“Ere this night I'll give thee backHer thou lovest;—as for me,
If I writhe upon the rack,
Just my punishment will be;
I was selfish in my age,
I was heartless unto thee.
XXVII
“I was selfish in my age;—Lustful, callous, stony-hard;
Ending life's long pilgrimage,
Swaddled in my self-regard;
Caring not, so I enjoy'd,
Whose enjoyment I debarr'd.
102
XXVIII
“Caring not, so I enjoy'd,Whom I injured, whom oppress'd,
Whose the hope that I destroy'd,
If one moment I were bless'd.
But in living to repent,
I shall die with calmer breast.
XXIX
“And in living to repent,Let me hasten to atone,
She for whom thy prayers are sent—
She is thine, and thine alone,
And thy love shall be to her
Better guerdon than my throne.
XXX
“Bring her hither—let my tongueBless you both before I die.”
He has brought her; Lo among
Chiefs and earls of lineage high,
In her loveliness array'd,
She has glided modestly.
XXXI
In her loveliness array'd,Downwards looking, mild and meek,
Dazzling as a star, the maid,—
Happy blushes on her cheek,—
Kneels beside the old man's bed,
Fill'd with joy she cannot speak.
103
XXXII
Kneels beside the old king's bed,Sorrow mingling with her bliss;
And he stoops his aged head,
On her forehead seals one kiss,
Takes his son's hand and the maid's,
Joins them, trembling, both in his.
XXXIII
Clasp'd his son's hand in his own,Then upon his pillow fell,
And his eyes one moment shone,
With a peace unspeakable,
As he died without a groan;—
Holy angels guard him well!
| Legends of the isles and Highland Gatherings | |