II.
Years passed. Soon the sisters were full grown
No misfortune having truly known.
Then - calamity! The Queen fell ill,
Nor could she be cured by herb or pill.
Ere a week had gone, she scarce drew breath
Lying at the very doors of death.
By her side, her loving King didst kneel,
To his ear she made her last appeal:
"Husband, promise me that when I've died
Thou wilt seek another Queen and bride.
May she be as fair as me, as fine,
May her hair be shining gold, like mine;
Last of all - oh, promise me, my King! -
May her finger fit my wedding ring."
Such were her last words: no more she said.
Alas! The Queen was dead! The Queen was dead.
The King was wracked with sorrow and despair:
No-one in the world he'd held more dear.
Gladly he'd have lain down his own life
If it could have purchased back his wife.
Many days, he neither ate nor drank
To all comfort was he wholly blank
Floundering in misery and gloom,
Huddled night and day by his Queen's tomb.
And, indeed, he'd soon have joined her there
Had not Luralai assumed his care,
Bringing laden trays of wine and meat
Gently pleading him to drink and eat.
"For," she said, "thy daughters love thee so,
Wouldst thou see us orphaned, father? - No."
Thus with tender words did Lura save
Her own father from an early grave.