All the night in woe
Lyca's parents go
Over valleys deep,
While the deserts weep.
Tired and woe-begone,
Hoarse with making moan,

Arm in arm for days
Traced the desert ways.
Seven nights they sleep
Among shadows deep,
Dreaming see their child
Starved in desert wild.

Pale, through pathless ways
Fancied image strays
Famished, weeping, weak,
Hollow piteous shriek.
Rising from unrest,
Trembling woman prest

Feet of weary woe,
Could no further go.
In his arms he bore
Her with sorrow sore;
Till before their way
A couching lion lay.

Turning back was vain!
Soon his heavy mane
Bore them to the ground.
Then he stalked around,
Smelling to his prey;
But their fears allay

When he licks their hands,
Silent by them stands.
They look 'pon his eyes
Filled with deep surprise;
Wondering behold
Spirit armed in gold.

On his head a crown;
On his shoulders down
Flowed his golden hair.
Gone was all their care.

`Follow me,' he said;
`Weep not for the maid;
In my palace deep
Lyca lies asleep.'
Then they followed
Where the vision led,

To this day they dwell
In a lonely dell;
Fear not wolfish howl
Nor the lions' growl.
To this day they dwell
In a lonely dell;
Not fear the wolfish howl,
Nor the lions' growl.

Lyca lies asleep...
Lyca lies asleep...
Lyca lies asleep...

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