His candles guide her with pomp funereal flaring,
Out of the gulfy dark to the bier whereon he lies.
Cometh this queen i' the night for grief or for daring,
Out o' the dark to the light with large affrighted eyes?
The pale queen speaks in the Presence with fear upon her,
'Where is the ring I gave to thee, where is my ring?
I vowed--'t was an evil vow--by love, and by honour,
Come life or come death to be thine, thou poor dead king.'
The pale queen's honour! A low laugh scathing and sereing--
A mumbling as made by the dead in the tombs ye wot.
Braveth the dead this queen? 'Hear it, whoso hath hearing,
I vowed by my love, cold king, but I loved thee not.'
Honour! An echo in aisles and the solemn portals,
Low sinketh this queen by the bier with its freight forlorn;
Yet kneeling, 'Hear me!' she crieth, 'you just immortals,
You saints bear witness I vowed and am not forsworn.
I vowed in my youth, fool-king, when the golden fetter
Thy love that bound me and bann'd me full weary I wore,
But all poor men of thy menai I held them better,
All stalwart knights of thy train unto me were more.
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