There was a King of Thule <br /> Whom a Witch-wife stole at birth; <br />In a country known but newly, <br /> All under the dumb, huge Earth. <br /> <br />That King's in a Forest toiling; <br /> And he never the green sward delves <br />But he sees all his green waves boiling <br /> Over his sands and shelves; <br /> <br />In these sunsets vast and fiery, <br /> In these dawns divine he sees <br />Hy-Brasil, Mannan and Eire, <br /> And the Isle of Appletrees; <br /> <br />He watches, heart-still and breathless, <br /> The clouds through the deep day trailing, <br />As the white-winged vessels gathered, <br /> Into his harbours sailing; <br /> <br />Ranked Ibis and lazy Eagles <br /> In the great blue flame may rise, <br />But ne'er Sea-mew or Solan beating <br /> Up through their grey low skies; <br /> <br />When the storm-led fires are breaking, <br /> Great waves of the molten night, <br />Deep in his eyes comes aching <br /> The icy Boreal Light. <br /> <br />O, lost King, and O, people perished, <br /> Your Thule has grown one grave! <br />Unvisited as uncherished, <br /> Save by the wandering wave! <br /> <br />The billows burst in his doorways, <br /> The spray swoops over his walls! -- <br />O, his banners that throb dishonoured <br /> O'er arms that hide in his halls -- <br /> <br />Deserved is your desolation! -- <br /> Why could you not stir and save <br />The last-born heir of your nation? -- <br /> Sold into the South, a slave <br /> <br />Till he dies, and is buried duly <br /> In the hot Australian earth -- <br />The lorn, lost King of Thule, <br /> Whom a Witch-wife stole at birth<br /><br />Sydney Wheeler Jephcott<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-ballad-of-the-last-king-of-thule/
