And breathed a vow, a burning vow of vengeance;—­it was I! 
  I’ve lived; but all my life has been a memory of the slain;
  I’ve lived but to revenge them,—­and I have not lived in vain! 
  I read it in thy haggard face, the hour is drawing nigh
  When power and wealth can aid thee not,—­when, Richard, thou must DIE! 
  What mean those pale, convulsive lips?  What means that shrinking brow? 
  Ha!  Richard of the lion-heart, thou art a coward now! 
  Now call thy hireling ruffians; bid them bring the cord and rack,
  And bid them strain these limbs of mine until the sinews crack;
  And bid them tear the quivering flesh, break one by one each bone;—­
  Thou canst not break my spirit, though thou mayst compel a groan. 
  I die, as I would live and die, the ever bold and free;
  And I shall die with joy, to think I’ve rid the world of thee.”

  Swords are starting from their scabbards, grim and hardened warriors wait
  Richard’s slightest word or gesture that may seal the bowman’s fate. 
  But his memory has been busy with the deeds of other times. 
  In the eyes of wakened conscience all his glories turn to crimes,
  And his crimes to something monstrous; worlds were little now to give
  In atonement for the least.  He cries, in anguish, “Let him live. 
  He has reason; never treason more became a traitor bold. 
  Youth, forgive as I forgive thee!  Give him freedom,—­give him gold. 
  Marcadee, be sure, obey me; ’tis the last, the dying hest
  Of a monarch who is sinking, sinking fast,—­oh, not to rest! 
  Haply, He above, remembering, may relieve my dark despair
  With a ray of hope to light the gloom when I am suffering—­there!”

  The captain neared the royal bed
  And humbly bowed his helmed head,
  And laid his hand upon the plate
  That sheathed his breast, and said, “Though late
  Thy mercy comes, I hold it still
  My duty to do thy royal will. 
  If I should fail to serve thee fair,
  May I be doomed to suffer—­there!”

  I’ve often met with a fast young friend
  More ready to borrow than I to lend;
  I’ve heard smooth men in election-time
  Prove every creed, but their own, a crime: 
  Perhaps, if the fast one wished to borrow,
  I’ve taken his word to pay “to-morrow”;
  Perhaps, while Smooth explained his creed,
  I’ve thought him the man for the country’s need;
  Perhaps I’m more of a trusting mood
  Than you suppose; but I think I would
      Have trusted that man of mail,
  If I had been the dying king,
  About as far as you could sling
      An elephant by the tail!

  Good subjects then, as now, no doubt,
  When a king was dead, were eager to shout
      In time, “God save” the new one! 
  One trouble was always whom to choose
  Amongst the heirs; for it raised the deuse
  And ran the subject’s neck in a noose,
      Unless he chose the true one.