O’er adverse Fate.
The summer flowers
Re-bloom in bowers,
Tho’ winter’s hours
May kill with frost.
Beneath the sun
As quick years run;
All thou hast done
Is never lost.”
The King lifted up his head as he heard these comforting words, and looked at the noble face of the minstrel, for the silvery song bade him not despair, although no good appeared to come of all his work; and Lanis, seeing a ray of hope beam in the King’s eyes, went on singing joyfully: