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Der Königssohn.
67
VIII.The King has placed him on his throne,His youthful Queen's beside him:The throne shone bright, like morning's light,And gallant subjects eyed him.
For many a knight of proof was there,On his monarch's splendour gazing:The golden crown shot lustre down,Like the sun's own circle blazing.
A blind old Bard lean'd on his harp,Amid the martial throng;He felt the time had come at lastFor which he'd sighed so long.
The veil of darkness leaves his eyes,The veil that long had bound him;He looks insatiate on the glowOf glory flashing round him.
With dying fire he swept his lyre,Oh! loud its numbers rang;And full of light and happinessThe Bard his last lay sang.
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