John Copeland flung back his head and without prelude began to carol
lustily.
Sang John Copeland:
"There are taller lads than Atys,
And many are wiser than he,--
How should I heed them?--whose fate is
Ever to serve and to be
Ever the lover of Atys,
And die that Atys may dine,
Live if he need me--Then heed me,
And speed me, (the moment is thine!)
And let the heart of Atys,
At last, at last, be mine!
"Fair is the form unbeholden,
And golden the glory of thee
Whose voice is the voice of a vision
Whose face is the foam of the sea,
And the fall of whose feet is the flutter
Of breezes in birches and pine,
When thou drawest near me, to hear me,
And cheer me, (the moment is thine!)
And let the heart of Atys,
At last, at last, be mine!"
I must tell you that the Queen shivered, as if with extreme cold. She
gazed toward John Copeland wonderingly. The secretary was fretting at
his lutestrings, with his head downcast. Then in a while the Queen
turned to Hastings.
"The occasion is very urgent, my lord," the Queen assented.
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