His solemn pomp, his proud reserve,
His sad exchange of glee, for state,
That ill-beseem’d his rustic gait.
His temper open, far from vicious,
Chang’d too—for he was grown ambitious.
He, that so early erst was seen
With active step to cross the green,
Now slept, supinely slept away
The prime, the golden hours of day.
The sun shot down his highest beam