The Princess That was n’t.
In a very lonely tower,
So the legend goes to tell,
Pines a Princess in the power
Of a dreadful Dragon’s spell.
There she sits in silent state,
Always watching—always dumb,
While the Dragon at the gate
Eats her suitors as they come—
King and Prince of every nation
Poet, Page, and Troubadour,
Of whatever rank or station—
Eats them up and waits for more.
Every Knight that hears the legend
Thinks he’ll see what he can do,
Gives his sword a lovely edge, and—
Like the rest is eaten too!
All of which is very pretty,
And romantic, too, forsooth;
But, somehow, it seems a pity
That they should n’t know the truth.
If they only knew that really
There is no Princess to gain—
That she’s an invention merely
Of the crafty Dragon’s brain.
Once it chanced he’d missed his dinner
For perhaps a day or two;
Felt that he was getting thinner,
Wondered what he’d better do.
Then it was that he bethought him
How in this romantic age
(Reading fairy tales had taught him)
Rescuing ladies was the rage.
So a lonely tower he rented,
For a trifling sum per year,
And this thrilling tale invented,
Which was carried far and near;
Far and near throughout the nations,
And the Dragon ever since,
Has relied for daily rations,
On some jolly Knight or Prince.
And while his romantic fiction
To a chivalrous age appeals,
It’s a very safe prediction:
He will never want for meals.
