POET AND KING.

THOUGH I am king, I have no throne

Save this rough wooden siege alone;

I have no empire, yet my sway

Extends a myriad leagues away;

No servile vassal bends his knee

In grovelling reverence to me,

Yet at my word all hearts beat high,

And there is fire in every eye,

And love and gratitude they bring

As tribute unto me, a king.

The folk that throng the busy street

Know not it is a king they meet;

And I am glad there is not seen

The monarch in my face and mien.

I should not choose to be the cause

Of fawning or of coarse applause:

I am content to know the arts

Wherewith to lord it o'er their hearts;

For when unto their hearts I sing,

I am a king, I am a king!

My sceptre,— see, it is a pen!

Wherewith I rule these hearts of men.

Sometime it pleaseth to beguile

Its monarch fancy with a smile;

Sometime it is athirst for tears:

And so adown the laurelled years

I walk, the noblest lord on earth,

Dispensing sympathy and mirth.

Aha! it is a magic thing

That makes me what I am,— a king!

Let empires crumble as they may,

Proudly I hold imperial sway;

The sunshine and the rain of years

Are human smiles and human tears

That come or vanish at my call,—

I am the monarch of them all!

Mindful alone of this am I:

The songs I sing shall never die;

Not even envious Death can wring

His glory from so great a king.

Come, brother, be a king with me,

And rule mankind eternally;

Lift up the weak, and cheer the strong,

Defend the truth, combat the wrong!

You'll find no sceptre like the pen

To hold and sway the hearts of men;

Its edicts flow in blood and tears

That will outwash the flood of years:

So, brother, sing your songs, oh, sing!

And be with me a king, a king!