Then the trumpets sounded, and his vassals came,
Gather'd round his banner, loudly rang his name;
Clash'd their burnish'd targets, waved their flashing steel
A goodly gath'ring look'd they, arm'd from head to heel.
"Child! my heart beats proudly, now I feel a king,
As I look around me on this martial ring;
There I see the sinews that support a state,
There I see the strength that makes a monarch great.
Men whose life is glory—men whose death is fame,
Living still in story past the reach of shame."
Many years pass'd over—the old King was dead,
And his child, his first-born, reignèd in his stead.
Many years he reignèd, and upon his brow
Now the frost of age lay like the winter's snow.
So he took his son forth, as his father had,
"Come! and see thy people," said he to the lad.
And they rode together through the busy town:
Many a peaceful merchant passing up and down;
Loud the workman's hammer sounded through the air
Portly look'd the craftsmen, standing 'mid their ware;