No man less proud than he,
Nor cared for homage less;
Only, he could not be
Far off from happiness:
Nature was bound to his success.
Weary, the cares, the jars
The lets, of every day:
But the heavens filled with stars,
Chanced he upon the way:
And where he stayed, all joy would stay.
Now, when sad night draws down,
When the austere stars burn:
Roaming the vast stars burn:
My thoughts and memories yearn
Toward him, who never will return.
Yet I have seen him live,
And owned my friend, a king:
And that he came to give,
He gave, and I, who sing
His praise, bring all I have to bring.
BY THE STATUE OF KING CHARLES AT
CHARING CROSS
By Lionel Johnson
Sombre and rich, the skies;
Great glooms and starry plains.
Gently the night wind sighs;
Else a vast silence reigns.
