# The King's Daughter/The King's Daughter

THE KING’S DAUGHTER.
It was a lord and a gentle maid Sat in a greenwood bower,
And thus the brave Sir Alfred said To the greenwood’s fairest flower:—
“I have loved theo well, sweet Rosalie,— With thee I could live and die;
But thou art a maid of low degree, And of princely race am I.
“I have loved thee well, sweet Rosalie, I have loved a year and a day;
But a different fate is in store for me, And I must no longer stay.
“Thou art a cottage maiden, love, And know not thy own pedigree;
And I must marry the king’s daughter, For she is betrothed to me.”
There was a smile on Rosalie’s lip, But a tear in her blue eye shone;
The smile was all for her lover’s fate, The tear perchance for her own.
​And down fell her ringlets of chestnut hair, Down in a shower of gold;
And she hid her face in her lover’s arms, With feelings best left untold.
Then slowly rose she in her bower, With something of pride and scorn,
And she look’d like a tall and dewy flower That lifts up its head to the morn.
She flung her golden ring’ets aside, And a deep blush crimson’d her cheek,—
“Heaven bless thee, Alfred, and thy young bride, Heaven give you the joy you seek!
“Thou wert not born for a cottage, love, Nor yet for a maiden of low degree;
Thou wilt find thy mate in the king’s daughter— Forget and forgive thy Rosalie.”
Sir Alfred has flung him upon his steed, But he rides at a laggard pace;
Of the road he is travelling he takes no heed, And a deadly paleness is on his face.
Sir Alfred has come to the king’s palace, And slowly Sir Alfred has lighted down ; He sigh’d when he thought of the king’s daughter— He sigh’d when he thought of her father’s crown.
“Oh! that my home were the greenwood bower, Under the shelter of the greenwood tree! Oh! that my strength had been all my dower, All my possessions Rosalie!”
​Sir Alfred has entered tho royal hall ’Midst a thousand nobles in rich array; But he who was once more gay than all, Has never, I ween, one word to say.
The king sat high on his royal throne, Though his hairs were grey, his arm was strong, “Good cousin,” he said, in a jocund tone, “Is it thou or thy steed that has stay’d so long?
“But it boots not now—Bring forth the bride! Thou hast never yet my daughter seen; A woeful fate it is thine to bide, For her hair is red and her eyes are green!
The brido came forth in a costly veil, And nought of her face could Alfred see; But his cheek grew yet more deadly pale, And he fell down faltering upon his knee:
“Pardon! pardon! my liege, my king! And let me speak whilo I yet am free; But were she fair as the flowers of spring, To your daughter I never can husband be.”
Lightning flash’d from the king’s fierce eye, And thunder spoke in his angry tone,— “Then the death of a traitor thou shalt die, And thy marriage peal shall be torture’s moan!”
“I never fear’d to die, Sir King, But my plighted faith I fear to break; I novor fear’d the grave’s deep rest, But the pangs of conscience I fear to wake.”
​Out then spoke the king’s daughter, And haughtily spoke she,— “If Sir Alfred is vow’d to another love, He shall never be claim’d by me;—
If Sir Alfred is vow’d to another love, Why, let the knight go free; Let him give his hand to his other love, There are hundreds as good as he!”
With a careless touch she threw back her veil, As if it by chance might be; And who do you think was the king’s daughter?— His own—his long-loved Rosalie!
First he stood like a marble stone, And she like a lily sweet, Then a sunny smile o’er his features shone, And then he was at her feet.
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
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