A story told in verse about a great prince and his lovely bride |
It was the spring, the Bards all say A word came from a heav'n sent guide And called a great Prince far away, A harp and sword rode by his side. Astride his blue-gray gallant mount Upon whom name had never touched For all felt awe at its noble spirit And could not praise the steed enough. Upon this stallion the Prince set out Upon the willing stallion's grace Shared was the mission, man and mount Shared was the call from heaven's face Astride the path behind the two So say the Bards, where wisdom dwells Remained a lady who's beauty few Had ever spied and lived to tell. For she was daughter to a king Who treasured her beyond all wealth, Resolved to lock her under key To keep this treasure to himself. But in her flow'ry eighteenth year A young Prince showed up in disguise From a glorious kingdom, far, yet near And caught the golden princess' eye. His father, though, was mortal foe Unto the lady's lustful lord Who knew the Prince could crush and throw Him into Hades with a word. At last the mad King found him out Perceived the Prince there in his land And chose to try to bribe the lout Who threatened all his evil plans. But off! Imposter, never will I give in to your foreign bribe For to your daughter, I will fulfil The gift of full and glorious life! To my castle she will go Far from your foul fear-filled domain Hades, you will surely know But her great beauty will remain. The dark lord now so filled with rage Who knew he had now but one chance Commissioned his most frightful sage To breach the Prince's confidence. So in this guile, this treachery The evil sage rode by his side His pretence now, of course would be To help the Prince take home his Bride. But this great Prince had vision wide And knew this traitor with a glance Yet still allowed him by his side And willingly gave him his chance. An evil trap was quickly laid The Prince continued to the slaughter An awful price he chose to pay To gain the King's most lovely daughter. The people massed from all the land To mourn the Prince's dreadful death But unbeknownst to most of them The grave returned his Princely breath. And in some overlooked dark tomb A Prince rose up in far more glory Bearing well the saving wounds That give great light unto this story. And to his love he fairly flew Out to the one he loved beyond The power of death, to hold him to The sting of death, its foul sound. They met beneath a green fig tree They met with fairness, pure sweet passion But then he saddled his blue-gray steed To consummate his final mission. Don't fear, my love, for in these hands Lies my love for you in store Give it freely to this land For I'll return to you once more. |