Page:The King of the Dark Chamber.djvu/13

we are not going to be beaten. We will sing till We have flooded all streets with our mirth and song.

Song

The southern gate is unbarred. Come, my spring, come!
Thou wilt swing at the swing of my heart, come, my spring, come!
Come in the lisping leaves, in the youthful surrender of flowers;
Come in the flute songs and the wistful sighs of the woodlands!

Let your unfastened robe wildly flap in the drunken wind!

Come, my spring, come!

[Exeunt.

Enter a band of Citizens

First Citizen

After all, one cannot help wishing that the King had allowed himself to