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Authors: Andrew Lang
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king ruled who ill-treated or
tormented everyone he could lay his hands on. The king then gave
his parting orders and wise advice to his ministers, took a
tender leave of his wife, and set off with his army across the
seas.
I cannot say whether the voyage was short or long; but at last he
reached the country of the heathen king and marched on, defeating
all who came in his way. But this did not last long, for in time
he came to a mountain pass, where a large army was waiting for
him, who put his soldiers to flight, and took the king himself
prisoner.
He was carried off to the prison where the heathen king kept his
captives, and now our poor friend had a very bad time indeed.
All night long the prisoners were chained up, and in the morning
they were yoked together like oxen and had to plough the land
till it grew dark.
This state of things went on for three years before the king
found any means of sending news of himself to his dear queen, but
at last he contrived to send this letter: 'Sell all our castles
and palaces, and put all our treasures in pawn and come and
deliver me out of this horrible prison.'
The queen received the letter, read it, and wept bitterly as she
said to herself, 'How can I deliver my dearest husband? If I go
myself and the heathen king sees me he will just take me to be
one of his wives. If I were to send one of the ministers!—but I
hardly know if I can depend on them.'
She thought, and thought, and at last an idea came into her head.
She cut off all her beautiful long brown hair and dressed herself
in boy's clothes. Then she took her lute and, without saying
anything to anyone, she went forth into the wide world.
She travelled through many lands and saw many cities, and went
through many hardships before she got to the town where the
heathen king lived. When she got there she walked all round the
palace and at the back she saw the prison. Then she went into
the great court in front of the palace, and taking her lute in
her hand, she began to play so beautifully that one felt as
though one could never hear enough.
After she had played for some time she began to sing, and her
voice was sweeter than the lark's:
'I come from my own country far
Into this foreign land,
Of all I own I take alone
My sweet lute in my hand.
'Oh! who will thank me for my song,
Reward my simple lay?
Like lover's sighs it still shall rise
To greet thee day by day.
'I sing of blooming flowers
Made sweet by sun and rain;
Of all the bliss of love's first kiss,
And parting's cruel pain.
'Of the sad captive's longing
Within his prison wall,
Of hearts that sigh when none are nigh
To answer to their call.
'My song begs for your pity,
And gifts from out your store,
And as I play my gentle lay
I linger near your door.
'And if you hear my singing
Within your palace, sire,
Oh! give, I pray, this happy day,
To me my heart's desire.'
No sooner had the heathen king heard this touching song sung by
such a lovely voice, than he had the singer brought before him.
'Welcome, O lute player,' said he. 'Where do you come from?'
'My country, sire, is far away across many seas. For years I
have been wandering about the world and gaining my living by my
music.'
'Stay here then a few days, and when you wish to leave I will
give you what you ask for in your song—your heart's desire.'
So the lute player stayed on in the palace and sang and played
almost all day long to the king, who could never tire of
listening and almost forgot to eat or drink or to torment people.
He cared for nothing but the music, and nodded his head as he
declared, 'That's something like playing and singing. It makes
me feel as if some gentle hand had lifted every care and sorrow
from me.'
After three days the lute player came to take leave of the king.
'Well,' said the king, 'what do you desire as your reward?'
'Sire, give me one of your prisoners. You have so many in your
prison, and I should be glad of a companion on my journeys. When
I hear his happy voice
tormented everyone he could lay his hands on. The king then gave
his parting orders and wise advice to his ministers, took a
tender leave of his wife, and set off with his army across the
seas.
I cannot say whether the voyage was short or long; but at last he
reached the country of the heathen king and marched on, defeating
all who came in his way. But this did not last long, for in time
he came to a mountain pass, where a large army was waiting for
him, who put his soldiers to flight, and took the king himself
prisoner.
He was carried off to the prison where the heathen king kept his
captives, and now our poor friend had a very bad time indeed.
All night long the prisoners were chained up, and in the morning
they were yoked together like oxen and had to plough the land
till it grew dark.
This state of things went on for three years before the king
found any means of sending news of himself to his dear queen, but
at last he contrived to send this letter: 'Sell all our castles
and palaces, and put all our treasures in pawn and come and
deliver me out of this horrible prison.'
The queen received the letter, read it, and wept bitterly as she
said to herself, 'How can I deliver my dearest husband? If I go
myself and the heathen king sees me he will just take me to be
one of his wives. If I were to send one of the ministers!—but I
hardly know if I can depend on them.'
She thought, and thought, and at last an idea came into her head.
She cut off all her beautiful long brown hair and dressed herself
in boy's clothes. Then she took her lute and, without saying
anything to anyone, she went forth into the wide world.
She travelled through many lands and saw many cities, and went
through many hardships before she got to the town where the
heathen king lived. When she got there she walked all round the
palace and at the back she saw the prison. Then she went into
the great court in front of the palace, and taking her lute in
her hand, she began to play so beautifully that one felt as
though one could never hear enough.
After she had played for some time she began to sing, and her
voice was sweeter than the lark's:
'I come from my own country far
Into this foreign land,
Of all I own I take alone
My sweet lute in my hand.
'Oh! who will thank me for my song,
Reward my simple lay?
Like lover's sighs it still shall rise
To greet thee day by day.
'I sing of blooming flowers
Made sweet by sun and rain;
Of all the bliss of love's first kiss,
And parting's cruel pain.
'Of the sad captive's longing
Within his prison wall,
Of hearts that sigh when none are nigh
To answer to their call.
'My song begs for your pity,
And gifts from out your store,
And as I play my gentle lay
I linger near your door.
'And if you hear my singing
Within your palace, sire,
Oh! give, I pray, this happy day,
To me my heart's desire.'
No sooner had the heathen king heard this touching song sung by
such a lovely voice, than he had the singer brought before him.
'Welcome, O lute player,' said he. 'Where do you come from?'
'My country, sire, is far away across many seas. For years I
have been wandering about the world and gaining my living by my
music.'
'Stay here then a few days, and when you wish to leave I will
give you what you ask for in your song—your heart's desire.'
So the lute player stayed on in the palace and sang and played
almost all day long to the king, who could never tire of
listening and almost forgot to eat or drink or to torment people.
He cared for nothing but the music, and nodded his head as he
declared, 'That's something like playing and singing. It makes
me feel as if some gentle hand had lifted every care and sorrow
from me.'
After three days the lute player came to take leave of the king.
'Well,' said the king, 'what do you desire as your reward?'
'Sire, give me one of your prisoners. You have so many in your
prison, and I should be glad of a companion on my journeys. When
I hear his happy voice
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