THE KING'S HOSTEL

Let us make it fit for him!

He will come ere many hours

Are passed over. Strew these flowers

Where the floor is hard and bare!

Ever was his royal whim

That his place of rest were fair.

Such a narrow little room!

Think you he will deign to use it?

Yes, we know he would not choose it

Were there any other near;

Here there is such damp and gloom,

And such quietness is here.

That he loved the light, we know;

And we know he was the gladdest

Always when the mirth was maddest

And the laughter drowned the song;

When the fire's shade and glow

Fell upon the loyal throng.

Yet it may be, if he come,

Now, to-night, he will be tired;

And no more will be desired

All the music once he knew;

He will joy the lutes are dumb

And be glad the lights are few.

Heard you how the fight has gone?

Surely it will soon be ended!

Was their stronghold well defended

Ere it fell before his might?

Did it yield soon after dawn,

Or when noon was at its height?

Hark! his trumpet! It is done.

Smooth the bed. And for a cover

Drape those scarlet colors over;

And upon these dingy walls

Hang what banners he has won.

Hasten ere the twilight falls!

They are here!— We knew the best

When we set us to prepare him

Such a place; for they that bear him

— They as he — seem weary too;

Peace! and let him have his rest;

There is nothing more to do.