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 No man less proud than he, Nor cared for homage less; Only, he could not be Far off from happiness: Nature was bound to his success.

Weary, the cares, the jars The lets, of every day: But the heavens filled with stars, Chanced he upon the way: And where he stayed, all joy would stay.

Now, when sad night draws down, When the austere stars burn: Roaming the vast stars burn: My thoughts and memories yearn Toward him, who never will return.

Yet I have seen him live, And owned my friend, a king: And that he came to give, He gave, and I, who sing His praise, bring all I have to bring.

BY THE STATUE OF KING CHARLES AT CHARING CROSS

Sombre and rich, the skies; Great glooms and starry plains. Gently the night wind sighs; Else a vast silence reigns.