There is another story, continued the merchants after a pause,
certainly less wonderful and taken from later times, which yet may
please you and give you a clearer insight into the operations of that
wonderful art. There was once an old king, whose court was the most
splendid of his age. People streamed thither from far and near, in
order to share in the splendor of his mode of life. There was not
wanting the greatest abundance of costly delicacies at his daily
entertainments. There was music, splendid decorations, a thousand
different dramatic representations, with other amusements to pass away
the time. Nor did intellect fail to be represented there in the persons
of sage, pleasant, and learned men, who added to the entertainment and
inspiration of the conversation. Finally, there were added many chaste
and beautiful youth of both sexes, who constituted the real soul of the
charming festivals. The old king, otherwise a strict and stern man,
entertained two inclinations, which were the true causes of the
splendor of his court, and to which it owed its thanks for its
beautiful arrangement. The first of these inclinations was his love for
his daughter, who was infinitely dear to him, as a pledge of the love
of his wife, who had died in her youth, and to whom, for her marvellous
loveliness, he would have sacrificed all the treasures of nature, and
all the powers of human minds, in order to create for her a heaven upon
earth. The other was a real passion for poesy and her masters. He had
from his youth read the works of the poets with heart-felt delight, and
had spent much labor and great sums of money in the collection of the
poetical works of every tongue, and the society of minstrels was
especially dear to him. He invited them from all quarters to his court,
and loaded them with honors. He never grew wearied with their songs,
and for the sake of some new and splendid production often forgot the
most important business affairs, and even the necessaries of life.
Amidst such strains had his daughter grown up, and her soul became, as
it were, a tender song, the artless expression of longing and of
sadness. The beneficent influence, which the protected and honored
poets exerted, showed itself through the whole land, but particularly
at the court. Life, like some precious potion, was enjoyed in lingering
and gentle draughts, and in its purer pleasures; because all low and
hateful passions were shunned, as jarring discords to the harmony which
ruled all minds. Peace of soul, and beautiful contemplations of a
self-created happy world, had become the possession of this wonderful
time, and dissension appeared only in the old legends of the poets, as
a former enemy of man. It seemed as if the spirits of song could have
given no lovelier token of their gratitude to their protector, than his
daughter, who possessed all that the sweetest imagination could unite
in the tender form of a fair maiden. When you beheld her at the
beautiful festivals, amid a band of charming companions in glittering
white dress, intensely listening to the rival songs of the inspired
minstrels, and with blushes placing the fragrant garland around the
locks of the happy one, who had won the prize, you would have taken her
for the beautiful and embodied spirit of this art, conspiring with its
magic language; and you would cease to wonder at the ecstasies and
melodies of the poets.
Yet a mysterious fate seemed to be at work in the midst of this earthly
paradise; The sole concern of the people of that country was about the
marriage of the blooming princess, upon which the continuation of their
blissful times, and the fate of the whole land, depended. The king was
growing old. This care lay heavy at his heart; and yet no opening for
marriage showed itself, that was agreeable to the wishes of all. A holy
reverence for the royal family forbade any subject to harbor the idea
of proposing for the hand of the princess. She was hardly regarded as a
creature of this earth, and all the princes, who had appeared at court
with proposals, seemed so inferior to her, that no one thought that the
princess or the king could fix their eye on any one of them. A sense of
inferiority had by degrees deterred any suitors from visiting the
court, and the wide-spread report of the excessive pride of the royal
family seemed to take away from all others the desire to see themselves
equally humbled. Nor was this report entirely without foundation. The
king, with all his mildness of disposition, had almost unconsciously
imbibed a feeling of lofty superiority, which rendered every thought of
a connexion of his daughter with a man of lower rank and obscurer
origin unendurable and impossible to be entertained. Her high and
unparalleled worth had heightened this feeling within him. He was
descended from a very old royal family of the East. His consort had
been the last of the descendants of the renowned hero Rustan. His
minstrels continually sang to him of his relationship to those
superhuman beings, who formerly ruled the world. In the magic mirror of
their art the difference between the origin of his family and that of
other men, and the splendor of his descent, appeared yet clearer, so
that it seemed to him that he was connected with the rest of the human
family through the nobler class of the poets alone. He looked around in
vain for a second Rustan, whilst he felt that the heart of his blooming
daughter, the situation of his kingdom, and his increasing age rendered
her marriage, in all points of view, most desirable. Not far from the
capital, there lived, upon a retired country-seat, an old man, who
occupied himself exclusively with the education of his only son, except
that he occasionally assisted the country people by his advice in cases
of dangerous sickness. The young man was of a serious disposition, and
devoted himself exclusively to the study of nature, in which his father
had instructed him from childhood. The old man many years before had
arrived from a distance at this peaceful and blooming region, and was
content while enjoying the beneficent peace, which the king had spread
abroad through this retreat. He took advantage of this peace to search
into the powers of nature, and impart the pleasing knowledge to his son,
who gave evidence of much talent for the pursuit, and to whose
penetrating mind nature willingly confided her secrets. Without a lofty
power of understanding, the secret expression of his noble face, and
the peculiar brilliancy of his eyes, you would have called the
appearance of this youth ordinary and insignificant. But the longer you
gazed upon him, the more attractive he became; and you could scarcely
tear yourself from him, when you had once beard his soft impressive
voice, and the utterances which his glorious talents prompted. One day,
the princess, whose pleasure-garden adjoined the forest, which
concealed the country house of the old man in a little valley, had
betaken herself thither alone on horseback, that she might follow out
her fancies undisturbed, and sing to herself her favorite songs. The
fresh air of the lofty trees enticed her gradually deeper into their
shade, until at last she came to the house where the old man lived with
his son. Happening to feel thirsty, she alighted, fastened the horse to
a tree, and stepped into the house, to ask for a glass of milk. The son
was present, and was well nigh confounded by the enchanting appearance
of a majestic female form, which seemed almost immortal, adorned as it
was by all the charms of youth and beauty, and by that indescribable
fascinating transparency, revealing the tender, innocent, and noble
soul. While he hastened to gratify her desire, the old man addressed
her with modest respect, and invited her to be seated at their simple
hearth, which was placed in the middle of the house, and on which there
glimmered noiselessly a light blue flame. Immediately on entering, the
princess was struck with the varied ornaments of the room, the order
and cleanliness of the whole, and the peculiar sanctity of the place;
and her impression was heightened yet more by the venerable appearance
of the old man, poorly clad as he was, and by the modest behavior of
the son. The former recognised her immediately as a lady of the court,
judging this from her costly dress and noble carriage. While the son
was absent, the princess asked him about some curiosities which had
caught her eye, and especially concerning some old and singular
pictures, which stood at her side over the hearth, and which he kindly
undertook to explain to her. The son soon returned with a pitcher of
fresh milk, which he artlessly and respectfully handed her. After some
interesting conversation with the hosts, she gracefully thanked them
for their hospitality, and with blushes asked the old man's permission
to visit his house again, that she might enjoy his instructive
conversation concerning his wonderful curiosities. She then rode back
without having divulged her rank, as she noticed that neither the
father nor the son knew her. Although the capital was situated thus
near, they were both so buried in their studies, that they strove to
shun the busy world; and the young man had never been seized with the
desire of being present at the festivities of the court. He had never
been accustomed to leave his father alone for more than an hour at the
utmost, while roaming through the woods searching for insects and
plants, and sharing the inspiration of the mute spirit of nature
through the influence of its various outward charms. The simple
occurrences of this day were equally important to the old man, the
princess, and the youth. The first easily perceived the novel and deep
impression, which the unknown lady had made upon his son. He knew his
character perfectly, and was fully aware that such a deep impression
would last as long as his life. His youth, and the nature of his heart,
would of necessity render the first feeling of this nature an
unconquerable passion. The old man had for a long time looked forward
to such an occurrence. The exceeding loveliness of the stranger excited
an involuntary sympathy in the soul of his son, and his unsuspicious
mind harbored no troublesome anxiety about the issue of this singular
adventure. The princess had never been conscious of experiencing such
emotions as arose in her mind, while riding slowly homeward. She could
form no exact idea of the curiously mixed, wondrously stirring feelings
of a new existence. A magical veil was spread in wide folds over her
clear consciousness. It seemed to her that, when it should be
withdrawn, she would find herself in a more spiritual world than this.
The recollection of the art of poetry, which hitherto had occupied her
whole soul, seemed now like a far distant song, connecting her
peculiarly delightful dream with the past. When she reached the palace,
she was almost frightened at its varied splendor, and yet more at the
welcome of her father, for whom for the first time in her life she
experienced a distant respect. She thought it impossible for her to
mention her adventure to him. Her other companions were too much
accustomed to her reveries, and her deep abstractions of thought and
fancy, to notice anything extraordinary in her conduct. She seemed now
to lose some of her affable sweetness of disposition. She felt as if
she were among strangers, and a peculiar anxiety harassed her until
evening, when the joyful song of some minstrel, who chanted the praises
of hope, and sang with magic inspiration of the wonders which follow
faith in the fulfilment of our wishes, filled her with consolation, and
lulled her with the sweetest dreams.
As soon as the princess had taken leave, the youth plunged into the
forest. He had followed her among the bushes as far as the garden gate,
and then sought to return by the road. As he was walking along, he saw
some bright object shining before his feet. He stooped and picked up a
dark red stone, one side of which was wonderfully brilliant, and the
other was graved with ciphers. He knew it to be a costly carbuncle, and
thought that he had observed it in the middle of the necklace which the
unknown lady wore. He hastened with winged footsteps home, as if she
were yet there, and brought the stone to his father. They decided that
the son should return next morning to the road, and see whether any one
was sent to look for it; if not, they would keep it till they received
a second visit from the lady, and then return it to her. The young man
passed much of the night gazing at the carbuncle, and felt towards
morning irresistibly inclined to write a few words upon the paper in
which he wrapt it. He hardly knew himself the meaning of the words
which he wrote:
A mystic token deeply graved is beaming
Within the glowing crimson of the stone,
Like to a heart, that, lost in pleasant dreaming,
Keepeth the image of the fair unknown.
A thousand sparks around the gem are streaming,
A softened radiance in the heart is thrown;
From that, the light's indwelling essence darts.
But ah, will this too have the heart of hearts?
As soon as the morning dawned, he took his way in haste to the garden
gate.
In the mean while the princess in undressing on the previous evening,
had missed the jewel from her necklace. It was a memento from her
mother, and moreover a talisman, the possession of which insured to her
the liberty of her person, since with it she could never fall into
another's power against her will.
This loss surprised more than it frightened her. She remembered that
she had it the day before when riding, and was quite certain that it
was lost, either in the house of the old man, or on the way back
through the woods. She still remembered the exact road she had taken,
and concluded to go in search of it as soon as the day should break.
This idea caused her so much joy, that it seemed as if she was not at
all sorry for her loss, in the good pretence it gave to take the same
road once more. At daybreak she passed through the garden to the
forest; as she walked with unwonted speed, it was natural that her
bosom should feel oppressed, and her heart beat faster than usual. The
sun was beginning to gild the tops of the old trees, which moved with a
gentle whispering, as if they would waken each other from their drowsy
night-faces, in order to greet the sun together; when the princess,
startled by a rustling at some distance, looked down the road, and saw
the young man hastening towards her. He at the same time observed her.
He remained a while standing as if enchained, and gazed fixedly upon
her, as if to assure himself that her appearance was real and no
illusion. They greeted each other with subdued expressions of joy at
their meeting, as if they had long known and loved each other. Before
the princess could explain to him the reason of her early walk, he
handed her with blushes and a beating heart the stone in the inscribed
billet. It seemed as if the princess anticipated the meaning of the
lines. She took the billet silently and with a trembling hand, and
almost unconsciously hung a golden chain, which she wore about her
neck, upon him, as a reward for his fortunate discovery. He knelt
abashed before her, and could hardly find words to answer her inquiries
about his father. She told him in a half whisper, and with downcast
eyes, that she would with pleasure soon visit them again, and take
advantage of his father's promise to make her acquainted with his
curiosities.
She thanked the young man again with unusual feeling, and returned
slowly on her way without once looking back. The youth was speechless.
He bowed respectfully and gazed after her for a long time, until she
vanished behind the trees. In a few days she visited them again, and
after this her visits became frequent. The youth by degrees became the
companion of her walks. He accompanied her from the garden at an
appointed hour, and escorted her back again. She observed a strict
silence with respect to her rank, confiding as she otherwise was to her
attendant, from whom no thought of her heavenly soul was ever hidden.
The loftiness of her descent seemed to pour a secret fear into her. The
young man gave up to her likewise his whole soul. Both father and son
considered her a maiden of quality from the court. She clung to the old
man with the tenderness of a daughter. Her caresses lavished upon him
were the rapturous prophets of her tenderness towards his son. She was
soon perfectly at home in the wonderful house; and while she sang to
her lute her charming song with an unearthly voice, the old man and the
son sitting at her feet, the latter of whom she instructed in the
divine art; she learned on the other hand from his inspired lips the
solution of those riddles, which everywhere abound in the secrets of
nature. He taught her how by a mysterious sympathy the world had
arisen, and the stars been united in their harmonious order. The
history of the past became clear to her mind from his holy fables; and
how delightful it became, when in the height of his inspiration her
scholar seized the lute, and broke out with incredible skill into the
most admirable songs. One day, when seized by a peculiar romance of
feeling, she was in his company, and her powerful, long-cherished love
overcame at returning her customary, maiden timidity; they both almost
unconsciously sank into each other's arms, and the first glowing kiss
melted them into one forever. As the sun was setting, the roaring of
the trees gave notice of a mighty tempest. Threatening thunder-clouds
with their deep, night-like darkness gathered over them. The young man
hastened to carry his charge in safety from the fearful hurricane and
the crashing branches. But through the darkness and his fear for his
beloved, he missed the road, and plunged deeper and deeper into the
forest. His fear increased when he perceived his mistake. The princess
thought of the terror of the king and of the court. An unutterable
anxiety pierced at times like a consuming ray into her soul; and the
voice of her lover, who continually spoke consolation to her heart,
alone restored courage and confidence, and eased her oppressed bosom.
The storm raged on; all endeavors to find the road were in vain, and
they both thought themselves fortunate, when, by a flash of lightning,
they discovered a cave near at hand on the declivity of a woody hill,
where they hoped to find a safe refuge from the dangers of the tempest,
and a resting place from their fatigue. Fortune realized their wishes.
The cave was dry and overgrown with clean moss. The young man quickly
lighted a fire of brushwood and moss, by which they could dry their
garments; and the two lovers saw themselves thus strangely separated
from the world, saved from a dangerous situation, and alone at each
other's side in a warm and comfortable shelter.
A wild almond branch, loaded with fruit, hung down into the cave; and a
neighboring stream of trickling water quenched their thirst. The youth
had preserved his lute; and now they were entertained by its consoling
and cheering music, as they sat by the crackling fire. A higher power
seemed to have taken upon itself to loosen the knot more quickly, and
to have brought them under peculiar circumstances into this romantic
situation. The innocence of their hearts, the magic harmony of their
minds, the united, irresistible power of their sweet passion, and their
youth, soon made them forget the world and their relations to it, and
lulled them, under the bridal song of the tempest and the nuptial
torches of the lightning, into the sweetest intoxication, by which a
mortal couple ever has been blessed. The break of the light blue
morning was to them the awakening of a new, blissful world.
Nevertheless a stream of hot tears, which soon gushed forth from the
eyes of the princess, revealed to her lover the thousand-fold
anxieties, which were awakening in her heart. In one night he had grown
old in years, and had passed from youth to manhood. With an inspiring
enthusiasm, he consoled his mistress, reminded her of the holiness of
true love, and of the high faith which it inspired, and prayed her to
look forward with confidence from the good spirit of her heart to the
brightest future. The princess felt that his consolation was founded on
truth, revealed to him that she was the daughter of the king, and that
she feared only on account of the pride and anxiety of her father.
After mature consideration, they concluded what course to pursue, and
the young man immediately started to seek his father, and to make him
acquainted with their plan. He promised to be with her again soon, and
left her lost in sweet imaginings of what would be the issue of these
occurrences. The youth soon reached the dwelling of his father, who was
right glad to see his son return to him in safety. He listened to the
story and the plans of the lovers, and seemed willing to assist them.
His house was retired, and contained some subterraneous chambers, which
could not easily be discovered. Here the princess was to dwell. She was
brought thither at twilight, and received by the old man with deep
emotion. She afterwards often wept in her solitude, when her thoughts
reverted to her mourning father; yet she concealed her grief from her
lover, and told it only to the old man, who consoled her kindly, and
painted to her imagination her early return to her father.
In the mean time the court had fallen into the greatest alarm, when, at
evening, the princess was missing. The king was entirely beside
himself, and sent people in every direction to seek her. No man could
explain her absence. No one mistrusted that she was entangled in a love
affair, and therefore an elopement was not thought of. Moreover no
other person of the court was missing, nor was there any cause for the
remotest suspicion. The messengers returned without having accomplished
anything, and the king sank into the deepest dejection. It was only at
evening, when his minstrels came before him, bringing with them their
beautiful songs, that his former pleasure appeared renewed to him; his
daughter seemed near him, and he conceived the hope that he should soon
behold her again. But when he was again alone, his heart seemed like to
break, and he wept aloud. Then he thought within himself; "of what
advantage to me now is all this splendor and my high birth? Without
her, even these songs are mere words and delusions. She was the charm
that gave them life and joy, power and form. Would rather that I were
the lowest of my subjects. Then my daughter would still be with me;
perhaps also I should have a son-in-law, and my grandson would sit upon
my knees; then indeed I should be another king than I am now. It is not
the crown or the kingdom that makes the king; it is the full,
overflowing feeling of happiness, the satiety of earthly possessions,
the consciousness of perfect satisfaction and content. In this way am I
now punished for my pride. The loss of my wife did not sufficiently
humble me; but now my misery is boundless." Thus complained the king in
his hours of ardent longing. Yet at times his old austerity and pride
broke forth. He was angry with his own complaints; he would endure and
be silent as becomes a king. He thought even then that he suffered more
than all others, and that royalty was burdened with heavy care; but
when it became darker, and stepping into the chamber of his daughter he
beheld her clothes hanging there, and her little effects scattered
around, as if she had but a moment before left the chamber; then he
forgot his resolutions, exhibited all the gestures of sorrow, and
called upon his lowest servant for sympathy. All the city and country
wept and condoled with him, with their whole hearts. It is worthy of
remark, that it was noised abroad that the princess yet lived, and
would soon return with a husband. No one knew whence this report arose;
but every one clung to it with joyous belief, and awaited her return
with impatient expectation. Thus several months passed on, until spring
again drew nigh. "What will you wager," said some of sanguine
disposition, "that the princess will not return also?" Even the king
grew more serene and hopeful. The report seemed to him like a promise
from some kind power. The accustomed festivals were again renewed, and
nought seemed wanting but the princess to fill up the bloom of their
former splendor. One evening, exactly a year from the time when she
disappeared, the whole court was assembled in the garden. The air was
warm and serene; and no sound was heard but that of the gentle wind in
the tops of the old trees, announcing, as it were, the approach of some
far off joy. A mighty fountain, arising amid the torches, which with
their innumerable lights relieved the duskiness of the sighing
tree-tops, accompanied the varied songs with melodious murmurs sounding
through the forest. The king sat upon a costly carpet, and the court in
festal dress was gathered around him. The multitude filled the garden,
and encircled the splendid scene. The king at this moment was sitting
plunged in profound thought. The image of his lost daughter appeared
before him with unwonted clearness. He thought of the happy days, which
ended with the last year about that time. A burning desire overpowered
him, and the tears flowed fast down his venerable cheeks; yet he
experienced a hope, as clear as it was unusual. It seemed as if the
past year of sorrow were but a heavy dream, and he raised his eyes as
if seeking her lofty, holy, captivating form amidst the people and the
trees. The minstrel had just ended, and deep silence gave evidence of
deep emotion; for the poets had sung of the joys of meeting, of spring,
and of the future, as hope is accustomed to adorn them.
The silence was suddenly interrupted by the low sound of an unknown but
beautiful voice, which seemed to proceed from an aged oak. All looks
were directed towards it, and a young man in simple, but peculiar
dress, was seen standing with a lute upon his arm. He continued his
song, yet saluted the king, as he turned his eyes towards him, with a
profound, bow. His voice was remarkably fine, and the song of a nature
strange and wonderful. He sang the origin of the world, the stars,
plants, animals, and men, the all-powerful sympathy of nature; the
remote age of gold, and its rulers Love and Poesy; the appearance of
hatred and barbarism, and their battles with these beneficient
goddesses; and finally, the future triumph of the latter, the end of
affliction, the renovation of nature, and the return of an eternal
golden age. Even, the old minstrels, wrapped in ecstasy, drew nearer to
the singular stranger. A charm, they had never before felt, seized all
listeners, and the king was carried away in feeling, as upon a tide
from Heaven. Such music had never before been heard. All thought that a
heavenly being had appeared among them; and especially so, because the
young man appeared, during his song, continually to grow more beautiful
and resplendent, and his voice more powerful. The gentle wind played
with his golden locks. The lute in his hands seemed inspired, and
it was as if his intoxicated gaze pierced into a secret world. The
child-like innocence and simplicity of his face appeared to all
transcendant. Now the glorious strain was finished. The elder poets
pressed the young man to their bosoms with tears of joy. A silent
inward exultation shot through the whole assembly. The king, filled
with emotion, approached him. The young man threw himself reverently at
his feet. The king raised him up, embraced him, and bade him ask for
any gift. Then, with glowing cheeks he prayed the king to listen to
another song, and to decide as to his request. The king stepped a few
paces back, and the young stranger began:--
Through many a rugged, thorny pass,
With tattered robe, the minstrel wends;
He toils through flood and deep morass,
Yet none a helping hand extends.
Now lone and pathless, overflows
With bitter plaint his wearied heart;
Trembling beneath his lute he goes,
And vanquished by a deeper smart.
There is to me a mournful lot,
Deserted quite I wander here;--
Delight and peace to all I brought,
But yet to share them none are near.
To human life, and everything
That mortals have, I lent a bliss;
Yet all, with slender offering
My heart's becoming claim dismiss.
They calmly let me take my leave,
As spring is seen to wander on;
And none she gladdens, ever grieve
When quite dejected she hath gone.
For fruits they covetously long,
Nor wist she sows them in her seed;
I make a heaven for them in song,
Yet not a prayer enshrines the deed.
With joy I feel that from above
Weird spirits to these lips are bann'd,
O, that the magic tie of love
Were also knitted to my hand!
But none regard the pilgrim lone,
Who needy came from distant isles;
What heart will pity yet his own,
And quench his grief in winning smiles?
The lofty grass is waving, where
He sinks with tearful cheeks to rest;
But thither winnowing the air,
Song-spirits seek his aching breast;
Forgetting now thy former pain,
Its burden early cast behind,--
What thou in huts hast sought in vain,
Within the palace wilt thou find.
Awaiteth thee a high renown,
The troubled course is ending now;
The myrtle-wreath becomes a crown,
Hands truest place it on thy brow.
A tuneful heart by nature shares
The glory that surrounds a throne;
Up rugged steps the poet fares,
And straight becomes the monarch's son.
So far he had proceeded in his song, and wonder held the assembly
spell-bound; when, during these stanzas, an old man with a veiled
female of noble stature, carrying in her arms a child of wondrous
beauty, who playfully eyed the assembly, and smilingly outstretched its
little hands after the diadem of the king, made their appearance and
placed themselves behind the minstrel. But the astonishment was
increased, when the king's favorite eagle, which was always about his
person, flew down from the tops of the trees with a golden headband,
which he must have stolen from the king's chamber, and hovered over the
head of the young man, so that the band fastened itself around his
tresses. The stranger was frightened for a moment; the eagle flew to
the side of the king, and left the band behind. The young man now
handed it to the child, who reached after it; and sinking upon one knee
towards the king, continued his song with agitated voice:--
From fairy dreams the minstrel flies
Abroad, impatient and elate;
Beneath the lofty trees he hies
Toward the stately palace-gate.
Like polished steel the walls oppose,
But over swiftly climb his strains;
And seized by love's delicious throes,
The monarch's child the singer gains.
They melt in passionate embrace,
But clang of armor bids them flee;
Within a nightly refuge place
They nurse the new-found ecstasy.
In covert timidly they stay,
Affrighted by the monarch's ire;
And wake with every dawning day
At once to grief and glad desire.
Hope is the minstrel's soft refrain,
To quell the youthful mother's tears;
When lo, attracted by the strain,
The king within the cave appears.
The daughter holds in mute appeal
The grandson with his golden hair;
Sorrowed and terrified they kneel,
And melts his stern resolve to air.
And yieldeth too upon the throne
To love and song a Father's breast;
With sweet constraint he changes soon
To ceaseless joy the deep unrest.
With rich requital love returns
The peace it lately would destroy,
And mid atoning kisses burns
And blossoms an Elysian joy.
Spirit of Song! oh, hither come,
And league with love again to bring
The exiled daughter to her home,
To find a father in the king!
To willing bosom may he press
The mother and her pleading one,
And yielding all to tenderness,
Embrace the minstrel as his son.
The young man, on uttering these words, which softly swelled through
the dark paths, raised with trembling hand the veil. The princess, her
eyes streaming with tears, fell at the feet of the king, and reached to
him the beauteous child. The minstrel knelt with bowed head at her
side. An anxious silence seemed to hold the breath of every one
suspended. For a few moments the king remained grave and speechless;
then he took the princess to his bosom, pressed her to himself with a
warm embrace, and wept aloud. He also raised the young man, and
embraced him with heart-felt tenderness. Exulting joy flew through the
assembly, which began to crowd eagerly around them. Taking the child,
the king raised it towards Heaven with touching devotion; and then
kindly greeted the old man. Countless tears of joy were shed. The poets
burst forth in song, and the night became a sacred festive eve of
promise to the whole land, where life henceforth was but one delightful
jubilee. No one can tell whither that land has fled. Tradition only
whispers us that mighty floods have snatched Atlantis from our eyes.