Where he reclined in floral state, his throne;

The lambs that sported in the yellow meads

His lawful subjects; while his azure eye

Looked up to heaven with all a child's delight,

And thought that earth was only made for him.—

How often has he wept for that fair moon,

That shed her trembling glory o'er his path;

Wearied his slender limbs to reach the spot

On which the rainbow based its splendid arch,

And felt his heart with disappointment beat

When the fair pageant faded from his view.—

Ah, simple boy!—well had it been for thee

Had thy ambitious longings been confined

To objects wisely placed beyond thy grasp.

But years stole on—thy ardent spirit broke

Its childish trammels, and with eager joy

Explored the warlike annals of the past,

And called up spirits of the mighty dead,

[Pg 17]

To set their hostile armies in array,

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