Yet think not Earth is blind to human woes—­
  Man has more friends and helpers than he knows;
  And when a patient people are oppressed,
  The land that bore them feels it in her breast. 
  Spirits of field and flood, of heath and hill,
  Are grieved and angry at the spreading ill;
  The trees complain together in the night,
  Voices of wrath are heard along the height,
  And secret vows are sworn, by stream and strand,
  To bring the tyrant low and free the land.

  But little recked the pampered King of these;
  He heard no voice but such as praise and please. 
  Flattered and fooled, victor in every sport,
  One day he wandered idly with his court
  Beside the river, seeking to devise
  New ways to show his skill to wondering eyes. 
  There in the stream a patient angler stood,
  And cast his line across the rippling flood. 
  His silver spoil lay near him on the green: 
  “Such fish,” the courtiers cried, “were never seen! 
  Three salmon longer than a cloth-yard shaft—­
  This man must be the master of his craft!”
  “An easy art!” the jealous King replied: 
  “Myself could learn it better, if I tried,
  And catch a hundred larger fish a week—­
  Wilt thou accept the challenge, fellow?  Speak!”
  The angler turned, came near, and bent his knee: 
  “’Tis not for kings to strive with such as me;
  Yet if the King commands it, I obey. 
  But one condition of the strife I pray: 
  The fisherman who brings the least to land
  Shall do whate’er the other may command.” 
  Loud laughed the King:  “A foolish fisher thou! 
  For I shall win, and rule thee then as now.”

  Then to Prince John, a sober soul, sedate
  And slow, King Martin left the helm of State,
  While to the novel game with eager zest
  He all his time and all his powers addressed. 
  Sure such a sight was never seen before! 
  In robe and crown the monarch trod the shore;
  His golden hooks were decked with feathers fine,
  His jewelled reel ran out a silken line. 
  With kingly strokes he flogged the crystal stream;
  Far-off the salmon saw his tackle gleam;
  Careless of kings, they eyed with calm disdain
  The gaudy lure, and Martin fished in vain. 
  On Friday, when the week was almost spent,
  He scanned his empty creel with discontent,
  Called for a net, and cast it far and wide,
  And drew—­a thousand minnows from the tide! 
  Then came the angler to conclude the match,
  And at the monarch’s feet spread out his catch—­
  A hundred salmon, greater than before. 
  “I win!” he cried:  “the King must pay the score.” 
  Then Martin, angry, threw his tackle down: 
  “Rather than lose this game I’d lose my crown!”
  “Nay, thou hast lost them both,” the angler said;
  And as he spoke a wondrous light was shed
  Around his form; he dropped his garments