THE PHANTOM LAND. 



But chiefly those I marked who once had swayed 

 The sceptre of our isle. King John I saw, 

 Vexed ever by Prince Arthur's suppliant shade ; 

 And Edward, wiping his red hands of war ; 

 While blustering Henry on his menials laid 

 All blame, because his mandates they obeyed; 

 And Cromwell I beheld extolling law. 



We now drew near to one impaired with years 

 Impaired with years, but more impaired with woe ; 

 The dried-up channels of exhausted tears 

 Chequered his face, while ringlets, white as snow, 

 Descended negligently o'er his ears, 

 That sung with sounds inspiring childish fears ; 

 His sightless eyes rolled idly to and fro. 



I knew him, by the star upon his breast, 



The patriarchal monarch of our isle, 



Who ruled her longest and who ruled her best, 



And spread her fame from Calpe to the Nile ; 



Patron of arts and arms all tongues attest, 



The good he did, the glory he possessed, 



In proof whereof stands many a sumptuous pile, 



Him there to see unhappy, old, and blind, 

 Moved me at once with sorrow and surprise; 

 For I had always heard him by mankind 

 Reported of as great, and good, and wise ; 

 But there he stood a man to grief consigned. 

 Disburdening thus by fits his wandering mind, 

 With face up-raised and wildly-rolling eyes. 



" What am I ? where am I ? It is not clear 

 That I am king ? I am, or was a king : 

 Have my rebellious subjects placed me here 

 In this dark dungeon? O ! it is a thing 

 A sceptre is a thing that men would ne'er 

 Aspire to, were it plainly to appear 

 What cares and heartaches it is sure to bring, 



" Is this the way is this the way to treat 

 A weak old man like me ? Is this the way 

 In which my former subjects now think meet 

 To use me, now my hairs are turning gray ? 

 Where are all those who knelt around my feet? 

 Could all their smooth professions be deceit ? 

 Is there now no one by my side to stay ? 



" When my old age was threatened when the sun 

 Of all my hopes seemed setting and the power 

 Which I in council and in war had won, 

 Grew feeble and my fame had past its flower 

 Alone, deserted, scoff'd at, there was none 

 Courtier, or tool, or flatterer there was none 

 None to stand by me in that perilous hour ! 



