The monarch placed his bar on streams and shores,
And proudly cried,—“The tithe of all is mine!”
Listless and late, when the partition vast
Had long been made, from far the poet came;
But ah! the lots of fate already cast,—
No part remained to meet the wanderer’s claim.
“Alas, alas! I, of the sons of earth
Alone forgot!—thy faithful and thine own!”
Then broke the flood of wild complainings forth,
As rushed the suppliant to the Thunderer’s throne.