You must be weary after such a quest.
Heroic man, victorious and strong—
Your concubine is lovely, did I say?
Oh, have a robe, wrapped round you tight, my man,
The water’s soft and warm, lay back your head.
You see, these years I’ve ruled as mistress, queen
Each day I’ve waited for your swift return.
Now listen, king, recall your treachery.
My daughter, lovely, birthed and raised, alive
With youth and spirit none could tame, my joy!
You see, I loved her more than you could know.
And yet you cruelly killed her, married her
In death, the hunter’s bride, her life at end.
And I was left to mourn a daughter slain,
Whose birthing pains still haunt my waking day!
My child, Oh! My child! Murdered, gone!
Your eyes do plead compassion—fool! You know
My woman’s heart is hardened since her death!
No warmth exists in these cold veins, but mud
Runs thick and through my tattered ventricles.
But you, dear spouse, are full of blood; your heart
Still beats—it quickens, now—are you afraid?
It thrills the remnants of my soul to see
Your eyes so wide with panic at my knife.
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