a curse,
  “This is some drunken vagabond, or worse!”
  Turned the great key and flung the portal wide;
  A man rushed by him at a single stride,
  Haggard, half naked, without hat or cloak,
  Who neither turned, nor looked at him, nor spoke. 
  But leaped into the blackness of the night,
  And vanished like a spectre from his sight.

  Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope Urbane
  And Valmond, emperor of Allemaine,
  Despoiled of his magnificent attire,
  Bare-headed, breathless, and besprent with mire,
  With sense of wrong and outrage desperate,
  Strode on and thundered at the palace gate: 
  Bushed through the court-yard, thrusting in his rage
  To right and left each seneschal and page,
  And hurried up the broad and sounding stair,
  His white face ghastly in the torches’ glare. 
  From hall to hall he passed with breathless speed: 
  Voices and cries he heard, but did not heed,
  Until at last he reached the banquet-room,
  Blazing with light, and breathing with perfume. 
  There on the dais sat another king,
  Wearing his rotes, his crown, his signet-ring. 
  King Robert’s self in features, form, and height,
  But all transfigured with angelic light! 
  It was an angel; and his presence there
  With a divine effulgence filled the air,
  An exaltation, piercing the disguise,
  Though none the hidden angel recognize.

  A moment speechless, motionless, amazed,
  The throneless monarch on the angel gazed,
  Who met his looks of anger and surprise
  With the divine compassion of his eyes;
  Then said, “Who art thou? and why com’st thou here?”
  To which King Robert answered with a sneer,
  “I am the king, and come to claim my own
  From an impostor, who usurps my throne!”
  And suddenly, at these audacious words,
  Up sprang the angry guests, and drew their swords;
  The angel answered with unruffled brow,
  “Nay, not the king, but the king’s jester; thou
  Henceforth shalt wear the bells and scalloped cape,
  And for thy counsellor shalt lead an ape: 
  Thou shalt obey my servants when they call,
  And wait upon my henchmen in the hall!”

  Deaf to King Robert’s threats and cries and prayers,
  They thrust him from the hall and down the stairs;
  A group of tittering pages ran before,
  And as they opened wide the folding-door,
  His heart failed, for he heard, with strange alarms,
  The boisterous laughter of the men-at-arms,
  And all the vaulted chamber roar and ring
  With the mock plaudits of “Long live the king!”
  Next morning, waking with the day’s first beam,
  He said within himself, “It was a dream!”
  But the straw rustled as he turned his head,
  There were the cap and bells beside his bed;
  Around him rose the bare, discolored walls. 
  Close by, the steeds were champing in their stalls,
  And in the corner, a revolting shape,
  Shivering and chattering, sat the wretched ape. 
  It was no dream; the world he loved so much
  Had turned to dust and ashes at his touch!