RD was brought to the Danish king (Hurry!) That the love of his heart lay suffering, And pin’d for the comfort his voice would bring; (Oh! ride as though you were flying!)Better he loves each golden curl On the brow of that Scandinavian girl Than his rich crown jewels of ruby and pearl; And his rose of the isles is dying! Thirty nobles saddled with speed, (Hurry!) Each one mounting a gallant steed Which he kept for battle and days of need; (Oh! ride as though you were flying!) Spurs were struck in the foaming flank;
Worn-out chargers stagger’d and sank; Bridles were slacken’d, and girths were burst; But ride as they would, the king rode first, For his rose of the isles lay dying! His nobles are beaten, one by one; (Hurry!) They have fainted, and falter’d, and homeward gone; His little fair page now follows alone, For strength and for courage trying. The king look’d back at that faithful child;
Wan was the face that answering smil’d; They passed the drawbridge with clattering din, Then he dropp’d; and only the king rode in Where his rose of the isles lay dying! The king blew a blast on his bugle horn; (Silence!) No answer came; but faint and forlorn An echo return’d on the cold gray morn, Like the breath of a spirit sighing. The castle portal stood grimly wide;
None welcom’d the king from that weary ride; For dead, in the light of the dawning day, The pale sweet form of the welcomer lay, Who had yearn’d for his voice while dying! The panting steed, with a drooping crest, Stood weary. The king return’d from her chamber of rest, The thick sobs choking in his breast; And, that dumb companion eyeing, The tears gush’d forth which he strove to check;
He bowed his head on his charger’s neck: “O steed—that every nerve didst strain, Dear steed, our ride hath been in vain To the halls where my love lay dying!”
