CANTO III.

XXVII.

Not far the sun had fallen, when he drew The chargers’ reins beside the circling sweep Of Royal walls. The gathering clansmen knew From foam and steam no slow and leisured creep Had been their pace. Their thought took leap on leap From sight to meaning. Then upon the floor They spied the King recumbent as in sleep, And as the form was borne within the door, In others’ eyes they sought the secret o’er and o’er.

XXVIII.

Straightway into the council-room of chiefs And sages was the limp-limbed body borne. Then spake Muëna: “Lo! a grief of griefs, Ultonia’s hearts are kingless and forlorn, For know ye not how spake the wiseman, born To wisdom?--‘Ne’er shall King with blemish marred Reign’: and behold! alas! since this sad morn King Fergus, from Ambition evil-starred, Lies now before your eyes in visage sorely scarred.

XXIX.

“Choose ye a King, to reign within his stead.” He ceased, but answer came not; rather, round The silent throng flew questioning glance that said Unstable vacillation. Not a sound Broke cover till one bolder spirit wound The trumpet-horn of speech; then left and right, Leapt forth the hounds of thought, and roof and ground Echoed impassioned tongues, and feet bedight With thong and sandal, plied with each loud speaker’s might.

XXX.

Then spake the sons of wisdom, they who stood Apart in silent conclave, while the din Of ineffectual babblings drew no rood More near conclusion: “Hear, Ultonian kin! What arm so strong Ultonia’s wars to win, Foster the strength of strong, inspire the weak? Lives there a soul full fit to stand within The Monarch’s room? What worthier do you seek To guide the reins of peace, or would ye other? Speak!”

XXXI.

“None! none!” the multitudinous answer rang Unanimous. (King Fergus, with a sigh, Turned in his sleep. Perchance he dreamed there sang Some bard of deeds their fathers did.) The cry Thrilled through the chamber’s walls, and far and nigh Found answer in a thousand throats, that gave Their yet unmeaning plaudits to the sky; And as, in sound like shoreward-shrieking wave They shout, the secret they in others’ faces crave.

XXXII.

Without, the crowd swayed back and forth, with din Low-muffled, as the sea doth surge and sway In silken swell, from storm gone past. Within Was calm, and brows determined sought a way Through that old law to write emphatic “Nay!” Then quoth the wisemen’s chief: “Our path is plain. Our hearts upon our tongues have said their say, And Fergus o’er Ultonia’s host shall reign, If but to meet our thoughts your constant strength ye strain.

XXXIII.

“Let fools and babblers take their journey far, And silent sit as sent’nel to your speech. What wots the King of that which him doth mar If but the knowledge in the breast of each Be locked beyond a thought’s long-arméd reach Till forced forgetfulness doth rust the key Or haply lose it. E’en your art let teach The water to forget his form to see Or give it back, when to ablution cometh he.”

XXXIV.

Approval shone within their eyes. Their tongues In loud assent gave forth: “Fergus is King!” And once again without, untutored lungs Caught up the cry, nor knew what meant the thing, ’Till, like a mighty bird, on fresh-plumed wing, The Royal chariot once again did shake Rampart and roof, as champing steeds did fling Their heads on high, and sped by mount and brake To scenes of less surprise when Fergus should awake.

. . . . . .

XXXV.

What need to sing of deeds within the scope Of thrice a dozen moons? What need to tell How fared the King when, by the sanded slope Where twice a day the sea-waves fret and swell, He woke? Or devious deeds that oft befell Clansman and chief in those high-sounding days Of war-girt peace--a Heaven ringed round with Hell-- Or battle’s loud-lunged shout, or conquest’s blaze, Or how the blemished King ne’er on his fault did gaze.