With this idea he went to the royal palace of the King, and there told the Lord High Chamberlain that he would cure the mad monarch by the power of song. The Lord High Chamberlain did not believe much in what Lanis said, still he was anxious that every means should be tried to cure the King, so let Lanis go into the dark room where he was sitting. The King was a noble-looking old man, who looked very sad and sorrowful, but Lanis saw at once that he was not really mad, but sad and despondent, owing to the treachery and unkindness he had found upon every hand. His dearest friends had betrayed him, his subjects were rebellious, and the poor King so despaired of ever making his people wise and noble that he had thus fallen into this deeply sorrowful state which the Lord High Chamberlain mistook for madness. Lanis ordered the curtains of the great window to be drawn aside, and, when the bright sunlight streamed in through the painted glass, he sat down in the centre of all the gorgeous colours, and, taking his lyre, began to sing of noble deeds in order to rouse the despairing King from his lethargy: “The world is fair With beauty rare, Then why despair, Oh monarch great? He is not wise Who never tries Sublime to rise O’er adverse Fate. The summer flowers Re-bloom in bowers, Tho’ winter’s hours May kill with frost. Beneath the sun As quick years run; All thou hast done Is never lost.” The King lifted up his head as he heard these comforting words, and looked at the noble face of the minstrel, for the silvery song bade him not despair, although no good appeared to come of all his work; and Lanis, seeing a ray of hope beam in the King’s eyes, went on singing joyfully: “Put on thy crown, And boldly frown Thy sadness down, Tho’ keen the smart. Thy burden take Of office great, And rule the State With dauntless heart. A coward he Who thus would flee Despairingly, In time of need. Tho’ evils lurk In darkness murk, Resume thy work— Thou wilt succeed.”