X.
On the stairs, the anxious prince doth wait.
"Where's my love?" he sighs, "what keeps her late?
Wouldst she, then, her loyal prince forsake?
Doth she wish to cause my heart to break?
Where is she?" – Ah, little does he know
That his princess toils and slaves below.
Still he lingers. Now the clock strikes nine.
"I will wait," says he, "'til death be mine."
One hand clasps a little golden ring –
In his plate of soup he'd found the thing.
"It is hers," he murmurs, "it must be.
None would own so fine a band, but she!"
On and on he waits. The clock strikes ten.
Still he keeps his post – oh, best of men!
So much wretchedness, such anxious woe
Must have even thawed a heart of snow.
But what's this? A figure now appears
At the foot of those long marble stairs...
It is she! His love! His true princess!
Resplendently arrayed in bridal dress,
Shimmering and lustrous, dazzling-bright,
Banishing the shadows from the night,
Lovely as a star. Truly, she seems
Like some fairy-bride of far-flown dreams.
But she is too beautiful. The prince
Now is filled with awe and reticence.
To one knee he sinks by Luralai.
"I'm not worthy of thee," he doth sigh.
"Then," says Lura, "order me away.
I will cease to live another day."
"Nay!" the prince cries, springing to his feet.
"Stay with me forever, I entreat!"