So, the welcome dusk is here,
Sweet is even, rest is dear;
Mountain heads have lost the light,
Soon they couch them. Night —‘ t is night.
Sigismund dreaming delightsomely after his haying.
(‘ Sleep of the labouring man,’ quoth King David,‘ is sweet.’ )
‘ Sigismund, Sigismund’ —‘ Who is this calling and saying
“Sigismund, Sigismund,” O blessed night do not fleet.
Is it not dark — ay, methinks it is dark, I would slumber,
O I would rest till the swallow shall chirp‘ neath mine eaves.’
‘ Sigismund, Sigismund,’ multitudes now without number
Calling, the noise is as dropping of rain upon leaves.
‘ Ay,’ quoth he dreaming,‘ say on, for I, Sigismund, hear ye.’
‘ Sigismund, Sigismund, all the knights weary full sore.
Come back, King Sigismund, come, they shall love thee and fear thee,
The people cry out O come back to us, reign evermore.
The new king is dead, and we will not his son, no nor brother,
Come with thy queen, is she busy yet, kneading of cakes?
Sigismund, show us the boy, is he safe, and his mother,
Sigismund?’ — dreaming he falls into laughter and wakes.