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This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 235 pages of information about The Poems of Henry Van Dyke.

1905.

THE VAIN KING

  In robes of Tyrian blue the King was drest,
  A jewelled collar shone upon his breast,
  A giant ruby glittered in his crown: 
  Lord of rich lands and many a splendid town,
  In him the glories of an ancient line
  Of sober kings, who ruled by right divine,
  Were centred; and to him with loyal awe
  The people looked for leadership and law. 
  Ten thousand knights, the safeguard of the land,
  Were like a single sword within his hand;
  A hundred courts, with power of life and death,
  Proclaimed decrees of justice by his breath;
  And all the sacred growths that men had known
  Of order and of rule upheld his throne.

  Proud was the King:  yet not with such a heart
  As fits a man to play a royal part. 
  Not his the pride that honours as a trust
  The right to rule, the duty to be just: 
  Not his the dignity that bends to bear
  The monarch’s yoke, the master’s load of care,
  And labours like the peasant at his gate,
  To serve the people and protect the State. 
  Another pride was his, and other joys: 
  To him the crown and sceptre were but toys,
  With which he played at glory’s idle game,
  To please himself and win the wreaths of fame. 
  The throne his fathers held from age to age,
  To his ambition seemed a fitting stage
  Built for King Martin to display at will,
  His mighty strength and universal skill. 
  No conscious child, that, spoiled with praising, tries
  At every step to win admiring eyes,
  No favourite mountebank, whose acting draws
  From gaping crowds the thunder of applause,
  Was vainer than the King:  his only thirst
  Was to be hailed, in every race, the first. 
  When tournament was held, in knightly guise
  The King would ride the lists and win the prize;
  When music charmed the court, with golden lyre
  The King would take the stage and lead the choir;
  In hunting, his the lance to slay the boar;
  In hawking, see his falcon highest soar;
  In painting, he would wield the master’s brush;
  In high debate,—­“the King is speaking!  Hush!”
  Thus, with a restless heart, in every field
  He sought renown, and made his subjects yield. 
  But while he played the petty games of life
  His kingdom fell a prey to inward strife;
  Corruption through the court unheeded crept,
  And on the seat of honour justice slept. 
  The strong trod down the weak; the helpless poor
  Groaned under burdens grievous to endure;
  The nation’s wealth was spent in vain display,
  And weakness wore the nation’s heart away.

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