While the noontide fervor beam'd,
Mused himself to sleep, and dream'd.
Thus far, in magnific strain,
A young poet soothed his vein,
But he had nor prose nor numbers,
To express a princess' slumbers.—
Youthful Richard had strange fancies,
Was deep versed in old romances,
And could talk whole hours upon
The Great Cham and Prester John,—