XXVI.
Muëna bore the King upon his breast
Into the chariot. There he laid him, dazed,
On ample couch, his fevered form to rest,
Soft shaded from the sun, that burned and blazed
High overhead,—then whipt the steeds, as crazed
From some pursuing phantom. Might and main
In lightning alternation high they raised
Sure-stepping foot, and over hill and plain
Toward far Emania’s walls their swiftest strength they strain.
CANTO III.
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.