Selections from Songs of a Bayadere and Songs of a Troubadour ::

Douglas, Evelyn

The Little Page.

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Up in the morning rose the queen,
And the morning of her age,
And forth into the forest green
Rode with her little page.

He was a lonely orphan boy,
Son of a gentle sire,
And she had taken pride and joy
To rear him for her squire.

And often in his childish way—
He was not yet fourteen—
“How can I thank you?” he would say,
“So kind to me you've been.”

And he was generous and brave
And true as tempered steel;
He loved to sing her a gentle stave,
And at her feet to kneel.

Up in the morning rose the queen,
And took her little page,
A gentle child of scarce fourteen,
From noble parentage.

And forth she fared with merry cheer
To ply the royal art;
And aiming at a fallow deer
She pierced the poor boy's heart.

Then from the ground with smile so sweet
He struggled to her side,
And lay down bleeding at her feet,
And kissed her hand, and died.

And dying, in his childish way—
He was not yet fourteen—
“How shall I thank you?” he did say,
“So kind to me you've been.

“And many a kind act you have done,
And loyal I have been;
But this of all the kindest one,
The best for me, my queen.”

University of Virginia Library