But his marble halls echo his steps no more,
And his voice sings not now to cheer
In camp or in court, for his life’s throb is o’er
And he lies on his lonely bier.
“Then sigh, all ye lads and lasses tender,
As I mourn for the fall of my youth’s defender;
Oh, think ere your hearts to young love surrender
That love’s smile often blends with a tear.
“I weep for my love, for his heart was true,
And he robed me in silk of white;
And a mantle of scarlet and gold he drew
Round my neck with a diamond bright.
Good viands full measure enriched his board;
Brimming over his cup of wine;
No orphan in vain hath his aid implored,
Nor did widow in want repine.
“Then hope, all ye knights and sad ladies weeping,
Your hearts may rest longin such good knight’s keeping,
As one now with strangers, in coldness sleeping;
And aye bless that sweet love of mine.
“My love was wise and his wisdom’s lore
Blessed with counsel the young and old;
And the sages replenished their learning’s store,
From his lips minted words of gold.
And his strong arm guarded his own good land
And his ancient ancestral throne;
Then no alien imposed a usurped command
On the realm that was his alone.
“Then cling, ye Bohemian hearts forever
To the hope that though tears may your lives dissever,
My love and his faithful heart shall never
Cease to live in the warmth of your own.”
Scarcely had this song ceased when a gang of roisterers outside attracted attention, and a merry fellow sang, as the crowd slowly moved away:
