The Novanatis (rather longish)

There he is, the hero king,
of whom bards and heralds sing,
upon his throne: a look of pride
there on his firm face resides.

Now begins the coronation
of his newborn Prince of Nations,
now in the arms of his fair queen,
slumb’ring, sleeping, deep in dreams.

Trumps resound across the land
as the priest does raise a hand,
speaks, soliloquy in Latin,
garbed in gold and finest satin.

Lords and dukes from lands afar
traverse the land in horse-drawn car,
finer than such e’er seen since,
bearing witness to this Prince.

Prophets in their cages scream
as the city streets do gleam
whilst the beggars stare in awe
as to the castle gates they claw.

The castle decked in jeweled array,
a spectacle; a fine display.
Magicians, jesters, and their ilk
perform their arts in clothes of silk.

And oh, the choir’s unceasing strains:
“Hail the king! Long may he reign!”
echoes through the city bright,
reverberating day and night!

A feast like none ever prepared
for all the court and nobles fair:
exotic foods, the finest wine
is served to all who thereat dine.

Concubine and slave alike
come to praise the Royal Tyke
cradled in the queen’s strong arms,
free from worry, safe from harm.

The air now filled with guns' report!
The king’s vast host in wide assort
does march unto the stronghold’s gates
and drill before the stone estate.

The king’s great standard held up high,
its red and gold against the sky:
a lion roaring, rearing fierce
with slashing claws and teeth that pierce.

The festival lasts seven days,
and minstrels sing and dance away.
The nights are filled with gay delight,
raucous romp and laughter light.

Upon the seventh day of feast,
a hand raised once more by the priest.
A hush descends—the time is now!
All eyes avert, all knees then bow.

The prince is taken from his bed,
a crown alighted on his head,
then baptized, held high in the air,
and thus the shining priest declares:

“Bow, ye persons, to your king!
May all the castle’s chambers ring!
His prince is born, all gaud and grace,
to one day take his father’s place!”

Crescendo by the trumpets raised,
the people in one voice give praise:
“Hail the king! Grant him long life!
May he be free from earthly strife!”

Thus now the prince is born away;
he has been seen enough today.
The feast has nigh drawn to its close;
the end of all these festive throes.

Thus does end this happy time:
into their cars the nobles climb;
the host disperses, slaves depart;
‘twas a sight to stir the heart.

As for the prince, he’s fast asleep,
dreaming in his slumber deep,
sheltered from all ill and pain
to one day like his father reign.




-D.B.