The axe was hurtling down;
What spell could stay its savage course?
What charm could save my crown?
"Too late, too late to stop the blow;
I shrieked to see it come;
My father's blood grew cold as snow;
My father's voice was dumb.
"He staggered back a moment's space,
Glaring on earth and skies;
Blank horror in his haggard face,