Who, on his way, may chance to free a tribe

Of desert-people from their dragon-foe;

When all the swarthy race press round to kiss

His feet, and choose him for their king, and yield

Their poor tents, pitched among the sand-hills, for

His realm: and he points, smiling, to his scarf

Heavy with riveled gold, his burgonet

Gay set with twinkling stones—and to the East,

Where these must be displayed!

Fest. Good: let us hear