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THE WAKE OF THE KING OF SPAIN.
All mute like marble statues stand,
Nor raise the eye, nor move the hand:
No voice, no sound to stir the air,
The silence of the grave is there.
The portal opens—hark, a voice!
"Come forth, O king! O king, rejoice!
The bowl is filled, the feast is spread,
Come forth, O king!"—The king is dead,
The bowl, the feast, he tastes no more,
The feast of life for him is o'er.
Again the sounding portals shake,
And speaks again the voice that spake:
—"The sun is high, the sun is warm,
Forth to the field the gallants swarm,
The foaming bit the courser champs,
His hoof the turf impatient stamps;
Light on their steeds the hunters spring:
The sun is high—Come forth, O king!"
