But, while the crownless sovereign trod the beach,
His eyeballs kindle with resentful ire,
As if incensed with all that he beholds,
Dark fields, and naked wolds,
And these few Followers, a helpless band
That to his fortunes cleave, and wait on his command.
Stanza 12
{"Bear with me, Friends," said Artegal ashamed,}
{"Forgive this passion," Artegal exclaimed, }
And, as he spake, they dive into a wood,