But a night’s dream undid him, and he died, and his kingdom By unheard-of deeds fashioned, was tumbled together, By false men and fools to be fought for and ruined. Such words shall my ghost see the chronicler writing In the days that shall be:—­ah—­what wouldst thou, my fosterling?  Knowest thou not how words fail us awaking That we seemed to hear plain amid sleep and its sweetness?  Nay, strive not, my son, rest awhile and be silent; Or sleep while I watch thee:  full fair is the garden, Perchance mid the flowers thy sweet dream may find thee, And thou shalt have pleasure and peace for a little.—­ (Aside) And my soul shall depart ere thou wak’st peradventure.

KING PHARAMOND

Yea, thou deemest me mad:  a dream thou mayst call it, But not such a dream as thou know’st of:  nay, hearken!  For what manner of dream then is this that remembers The words that she sang on that morning of glory;—­ O love, set a word in my mouth for our meeting; Cast thy sweet arms about me to stay my hearts beating! Ah, thy silence, thy silence! nought shines on the darkness!  —­O close-serried throng of the days that I see not!
          [Falls a-musing again.

MASTER OLIVER

Thus the worse that shall be, the bad that is, bettereth.  —­Once more he is speechless mid evil dreams sunken.

KING PHARAMOND (speaking very low).

Hold silence, love, speak not of the sweet day departed; Cling close to me, love, lest I waken sad-hearted!
          [Louder to OLIVER.
Thou starest, my fosterer:  what strange thing beholdst thou?  A great king, a strong man, that thou knewest a child once:  Pharamond the fair babe:  Pharamond the warrior; Pharamond the king, and which hast thou feared yet?  And why wilt thou fear then this Pharamond the lover?  Shall I fail of my love who failed not of my fame?  Nay, nay, I shall live for the last gain and greatest.

MASTER OLIVER

I know not—­all counsel and wit is departed,
I wait for thy will; I will do it, my master.

KING PHARAMOND

Through the boughs of the garden I followed the singing
To a smooth space of sward:  there the unknown desire
Of my soul I beheld,—­wrought in shape of a woman.

MASTER OLIVER

O ye warders of Troy-walls, join hands through the darkness,
Tell us tales of the Downfall, for we too are with you!

KING PHARAMOND