Mournful coronation

There was a King called Millesint,

of whom I will tell you:

he assassinated his brother's child,

wanting to wear the crown himself.

The coronation was celebrated in splendor

at Liffey Castle.

Oh Ireland, Ireland! Were you so blind?

At midnight the king sat

in the empty marble hall,

looked wildly at all the new magnificence,

as though made drunk by the feast;

he said to his son:

"Bring me again the crown!

but look, who has opened the gate?"

Then in came a strange death -play,

a procession stepping lightly,

disguised guests, many and large,

a crown swaying in their midst;

the procession pressed through the doorway

with whispers but no words

up to the king, who became white as a ghost.

And out of this dark crowd

a child with fresh wounds was peering,

he smiled with deathly pain and winked,

he circled the hall,

he trotted up to the throne,

he presented a crown

to the king, whose heart was terror-struck.

At that the whole troop rushed away,

intoxicated by the morning air,

the candles sputtered wonderfully,

the moon listened at the window,

the son, in fear and silence,

bent over his father -

he bent over a corpse.