"Which of my kingdoms is your country? Thither would I along."

"Great, O king, is thy power, and the earth a footstool for thy
feet;
But my country is free, and my own country, and oh, my country
is sweet!"

As he heard the eyes of the king grew young and alive with fire
"Lo, is there left on the earth a thing to strive for, a thing to
desire?

"Where is thy country? tell me, O singer, speak thine innermost
heart!
Leave thy music! speak plainly! Speak-forget thine art!"

The eyes of the singer shone as he sang, and his voice rang wild
and free
As the elemental wind or the uncontrollable sobs of the sea.

"O my distant home!" he sighed; "Oh, alas! away and afar
I watch thee now as a lost sailor watches a shining star.

"Oh, that a wind would take me there! that a bird would set me
down
Where the golden streets shine red at sunset in my father's town!

"For only in dreams I see the faces of the women there,
And fain would I hear them singing once, braiding their ropes
of hair.