The while his blooming comrade tript gaily at his side.
Spake to the youth the old man, “My son, be strong to-day;
Our deepest songs remember, attune thy fullest lay;
Knit all the nerves of music, the joy, the pain, in one;
Our task it is to-day to touch the tyrant’s heart of stone.”
Now stand the singers twain within the lofty pillared house,
And high upon his throne the king sits with his royal spouse;
The king so fiercely splendid, like blood-red northern light,
But sweet and mild the queen as looks the full moon on the night.
Then smote the strings the old man right wondrously and well,