Thus Aac remained with power complete at last;
But all his triumph was by gloom o’ercast;
He writhed in torture when, each night, he thought
How great the cost at which his throne was bought.
Worse yet, he’d lost the stake for which he played—
To fail in winning Móo, all else outweighed.
Upon his soul wrath preyed till spent; and now
Dark melancholy hovered o’er his brow.
Unsatisfied, unresting, ne’er at ease,
Seek where he might, nothing in life could please.