That was
when some of us one night paid a visit to a man who sat much alone, and
was said to think a great deal. We saw two of those sitting in the room
with him, and he was as pale as they were. We could not cross the
threshold, but shivered and shook, and felt ready to melt away. Is not
your majesty afraid of them too?"
But the king made no answer; and before he could speak again, the moon
had climbed above the mighty pillars of the church of the Shadows, and
looked in at the great window of the sky.
The shapes had all vanished; and the king, again lifting up his eyes,
saw but the wall of his own chamber, on which flickered the Shadow of a
Little Child. He looked down, and there, sitting on a stool by the
fire, he saw one of his own little ones, waiting to say good-night to
his father, and go to bed early, that he might rise early too, and be
very good and happy all Christmas-day.
And Ralph Rinkelmann rejoiced that he was a man, and not a Shadow.
But as the Shadows vanished they left the sense of song in the king's
brain. And the words of their song must have been something like
these:--
"Shadows, Shadows, Shadows all!
Shadow birth and funeral!
Shadow moons gleam overhead;
Over shadow-graves we tread.
Shadow-hope lives, grows, and dies.
Shadow-love from shadow-eyes
Shadow-ward entices on
To shadow-words on shadow-stone,
Closing up the shadow-tale
With a shadow-shadow-wail.
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