Page:Poems Dorr.djvu/214

The long-expected, waited one,
Flower of the state, and pride of all—
Grew at the king's side, straight and tall!

The king was angered. It may be
No worse than other men was he;
But—a high tower upon a hill—
His light shone far for good or ill!
In from the chase one day he rode;
To the queen's chamber fierce he strode;
Where bending o'er her 'broidery frame,
Her pale cheeks burned with sudden flame
At his quick coming. Up she rose,
Stirred from her wonted calm repose,
A lily flushing when the sun
Its stately beauty looked upon!
Alas! alas! so blind was he—
Or else he did not care to see—
He had no pity, though she stood
In perfect flower of womanhood!
"You bear to me no son," he said;
Then flinging back his haughty head:
"Each base-born peasant has an heir,
His name to keep, his crust to share,
While I—the king of this broad land—
Have no son near my throne to stand!
Who, then, shall reign when I am dead?
Who wield the sceptre in my stead?
Inherit all my pride and power,
And wear my glory as his dower?
Give me a man-child, who shall be
Lord of the realm, himself, and me!"

Then pallid lips made slow reply—
"God ordereth. Not you nor I!"