4
Sir Alfred has entered tho royal hall
’Midst a thousand nobles in rich array;
But he who was once more gay than all,
Has never, I ween, one word to say.
The king sat high on his royal throne,
Though his hairs were grey, his arm was strong,
“Good cousin,” he said, in a jocund tone,
“Is it thou or thy steed that has stay’d so long?
“But it boots not now—Bring forth the bride!
Thou hast never yet my daughter seen;
A woeful fate it is thine to bide,
For her hair is red and her eyes are green!
The brido came forth in a costly veil,
And nought of her face could Alfred see;
But his cheek grew yet more deadly pale,
And he fell down faltering upon his knee:
“Pardon! pardon! my liege, my king!
And let me speak whilo I yet am free;
But were she fair as the flowers of spring,
To your daughter I never can husband be.”
Lightning flash’d from the king’s fierce eye,
And thunder spoke in his angry tone,—
“Then the death of a traitor thou shalt die,
And thy marriage peal shall be torture’s moan!”
“I never fear’d to die, Sir King,
But my plighted faith I fear to break;
I novor fear’d the grave’s deep rest,
But the pangs of conscience I fear to wake.”
