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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 last
For 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 glow
Of glory flashing round him.

With dying fire he swept his lyre,
Oh! loud its numbers rang;
And full of light and happiness
The Bard his last lay sang.