Standing alone as a king should stand,
With his foot on the fields of his own broad lands.
“And never a storm from the stores of the North
Comes sweeping along the sky
But it emptieth forth the first of its wrath
On the crags on that mountain high;
And the voice of those crags has a tale to tell
That the heart of the hearer shall treasure well.
“A tale of a brow that was bound with gold,
And a heart that was bowed with sin;