AMONG the fine old kings that reign
Upon a simple wooden throne,
There's one with but a small domain,
Yet, mark you, it is all his own.
And though upon his rustic towers
No ancient standard waves its wing,
Thick leafy banners, flushed with flowers,
From all the fragrant casements swing.
And here, in royal homespun, bow
His nut-brown court, at night and morn,—