A monarch on his death-bed lay - br Did censors waft perfume, br And soft lamps pour their silvery ray, br Thro' his proud chamber's gloom? br He lay upon a greensward bed, br Beneath a dark'ning sky - br A lone tree waving o'er his head, br A swift stream rolling by. br br Had he then fall'n as warriors fall, br Where spear strikes fire with spear? br Was there a banner for his pall, br A buckler for his bier? br Not so;–nor cloven shields nor helms br Had strewn the bloody sod, br Where he, the helpless lord of realms, br Yielded his soul to God. br br Were there not friends with words of cheer, br And princely vassals nigh? br And priests, the crucifix to rear br Before the glazing eye? br A peasant girl that royal head br Upon her bosom laid, br And, shrinking not for woman's dread, br The face of death survey'd.