Life to the dying
In the king’s hand lying
In the king’s hand lying
Then he took her hand—
A great man pierced with arrows lying in a coffin-boat slipping down the river. Fire in the city and fire in the veins of a young man burning on a sick-bed. And her lord, her lord – as strong as the stone of this stern city – with tears upon his broken face—
“Oh come,” she whispered. “Come.”
He became quite the favourite. And when he left, she knew hope had departed.