But all were fled, except the dead,—and who could count the slain?
Where’er his eye could wander all bloody was the plain;
And while thus he said the tears he shed ran down his cheeks like rain.
Last night I was the king of Spain: to-day no king am I.
Last night fair castles held my train: to-night where shall I lie?
Last night a hundred pages did serve me on the knee,
To-night not one I call my own,—not one pertains to me.[35]