XXVII.
Not far the sun had fallen, when he drew
The chargers’ reins beside the circling sweep
Of Royal walls. The gathering clansmen knew
From foam and steam no slow and leisured creep
Had been their pace. Their thought took leap on leap
From sight to meaning. Then upon the floor
They spied the King recumbent as in sleep,
And as the form was borne within the door,
In others’ eyes they sought the secret o’er and o’er.
XXVIII.
Straightway into the council-room of chiefs
And sages was the limp-limbed body borne.
Then spake Muëna: “Lo! a grief of griefs,
Ultonia’s hearts are kingless and forlorn,
For know ye not how spake the wiseman, born
To wisdom?--‘Ne’er shall King with blemish marred
Reign’: and behold! alas! since this sad morn
King Fergus, from Ambition evil-starred,
Lies now before your eyes in visage sorely scarred.
XXIX.
“Choose ye a King, to reign within his stead.”
He ceased, but answer came not; rather, round
The silent throng flew questioning glance that said
Unstable vacillation. Not a sound
Broke cover till one bolder spirit wound
The trumpet-horn of speech; then left and right,
Leapt forth the hounds of thought, and roof and ground
Echoed impassioned tongues, and feet bedight
With thong and sandal, plied with each loud speaker’s might.
XXX.
Then spake the sons of wisdom, they who stood
Apart in silent conclave, while the din
Of ineffectual babblings drew no rood
More near conclusion: “Hear, Ultonian kin!
What arm so strong Ultonia’s wars to win,
Foster the strength of strong, inspire the weak?
Lives there a soul full fit to stand within
The Monarch’s room? What worthier do you seek
To guide the reins of peace, or would ye other? Speak!”
XXXI.
“None! none!” the multitudinous answer rang
Unanimous. (King Fergus, with a sigh,
Turned in his sleep. Perchance he dreamed there sang
Some bard of deeds their fathers did.) The cry
Thrilled through the chamber’s walls, and far and nigh
Found answer in a thousand throats, that gave
Their yet unmeaning plaudits to the sky;
And as, in sound like shoreward-shrieking wave
They shout, the secret they in others’ faces crave.
XXXII.
Without, the crowd swayed back and forth, with din
Low-muffled, as the sea doth surge and sway
In silken swell, from storm gone past. Within
Was calm, and brows determined sought a way
Through that old law to write emphatic “Nay!”
Then quoth the wisemen’s chief: “Our path is plain.
Our hearts upon our tongues have said their say,
And Fergus o’er Ultonia’s host shall reign,
If but to meet our thoughts your constant strength ye strain.
XXXIII.
“Let fools and babblers take their journey far,
And silent sit as sent’nel to your speech.
What wots the King of that which him doth mar
If but the knowledge in the breast of each
Be locked beyond a thought’s long-arméd reach
Till forced forgetfulness doth rust the key
Or haply lose it. E’en your art let teach
The water to forget his form to see
Or give it back, when to ablution cometh he.”
XXXIV.
Approval shone within their eyes. Their tongues
In loud assent gave forth: “Fergus is King!”
And once again without, untutored lungs
Caught up the cry, nor knew what meant the thing,
’Till, like a mighty bird, on fresh-plumed wing,
The Royal chariot once again did shake
Rampart and roof, as champing steeds did fling
Their heads on high, and sped by mount and brake
To scenes of less surprise when Fergus should awake.
. . . . . .
XXXV.
What need to sing of deeds within the scope
Of thrice a dozen moons? What need to tell
How fared the King when, by the sanded slope
Where twice a day the sea-waves fret and swell,
He woke? Or devious deeds that oft befell
Clansman and chief in those high-sounding days
Of war-girt peace--a Heaven ringed round with Hell--
Or battle’s loud-lunged shout, or conquest’s blaze,
Or how the blemished King ne’er on his fault did gaze.