Songs of the Spirit

Enter Messenger. Mess. My lord, the king’s command ! Ph. I heed it not. See thou disturb not my high meditation. Away ! Voice. With meditations centred in thyself. Mess. Who spoke ? Ph. Speak thou. I obey the king. Mess. My lord, He bids thee to his court, to hold the reins Tight on the fretful horses of the state Whose weary burden makes them slip—nay, fall On the stern hill of war. Thou art appointed Being the wisest man in all the realm, (So spake the king) the second to himself—— Ph. Thy vessel waits ? Mess. For dawn. Ph. Then hasten thee To tell them I am ready. The meanwhile I will devote to prayer. Mess. At dawn, my lord. [Exit Messenger.] 16