Face now so stamped with every line that’s sad;
Was joy e’er known those quivering lips to grace,
That heart to glad?
Who is this shadow’s shade?
This type of withered majesty? this thing?
Can it be true that knightly form decayed
Was once a king?
Son of a noble sire,
And of his father’s virtues too, the heir;
Those eyes so dim once rivalled the sun’s fire;