And slower still, and sadder still the heavy winters rolled,
And the burning summers waned away, and the king grew very
old;

Dull, worn, feeble, bent; and once he thought, "to die
Were rest, at least." And as he thought the music wandered by.

Into the presence of the king, singing, the singer came,
And his face was like the spring in flower, his eyes were clear
as flame.

"What is the song you play, and what the theme your praises
sing?
It is sweet; I knew not I owned a thing so sweet," said the weary
king.

"I sing my country," said the singer, "a land that is sweeter
than song."
"Which of my kingdoms is your country? Thither would I along."

"Great, O king, is thy power, and the earth a footstool for thy
feet;
But my country is free, and my own country, and oh, my country
is sweet!"

As he heard the eyes of the king grew young and alive with fire
"Lo, is there left on the earth a thing to strive for, a thing to
desire?

"Where is thy country? tell me, O singer, speak thine innermost
heart!
Leave thy music! speak plainly! Speak-forget thine art!"

The eyes of the singer shone as he sang, and his voice rang wild
and free
As the elemental wind or the uncontrollable sobs of the sea.

"O my distant home!" he sighed; "Oh, alas! away and afar
I watch thee now as a lost sailor watches a shining star.

"Oh, that a wind would take me there! that a bird would set me
down
Where the golden streets shine red at sunset in my father's town!

"For only in dreams I see the faces of the women there,
And fain would I hear them singing once, braiding their ropes
of hair.

"Oh, I am thirsty, and long to drink of the river of Life, and I
Am fain to find my own country, where no man shall die."

Out of the light of the throne the king looked down: as in the
spring
The green leaves burst from their dusky buds, so was hope in the
eyes of the king.

"Lo," he said, "I will make thee great; I will make thee mighty
in sway
Even as I; but the name of thy country speak, and the place and
the way."

"Oh, the way to my country is ever north till you pass the mouth
of hell,
Past the limbo of dreams and the desolate land where shadows
dwell.

"And when you have reached the fount of wonder, you ford the