Tomas Boy et Axel de Fersen

The King’s Son

Who rideth through the driving rain
At such a headlong speed?
Naked and pale he rides amain
Upon a naked steed.

Nor hollow nor height his going bars,
His wet steed shines like silk,
His head is golden to the stars
And his limbs are white as milk.

But, lo, he dwindles as the light
That lifts from a black mere,
And, as the fair youth wanes from sight,
The steed grows mightier.

What wizard by yon holy tree
Mutters unto the sky
Where Macha’s flame-tongued horses flee
On hoofs of thunder by?

Ah, ’tis not holy so to ban
The youth of kingly seed:
Ah! woe, the wasting of a man
Who changes to a steed!

Nightly upon the Plain of Kings,
When Macha’s day is nigh,
He gallops; and the dark wind brings
His lonely human cry.


Love On The Mountain

My love comes down from the mountain
Through the mists of dawn;
I look, and the star of the morning
From the sky is gone.

My love comes down form the mountain,
At dawn, dewy-sweet;
Did you step from the star to the mountain,
O little white feet?

O whence came your twining tresses
And your shining eyes,
But out of the gold of the morning
And the blue of the skies?

The misty morning is burning
In the sun’s red fire,
And the heart in my breast is burning
And lost in desire.

I follow you into the valley
But no word can I say;
To the East or the West I will follow
Till the dusk of my day.