The last of us, my sleeping aged king,
The last of us, and mine is hero’s work:
Defending my expired kingdom, bound
To wander weaponless beneath the kirk.
Enshrined in splendour’s shadow, ravens caw
And banquet on the scores of unburnt dead;
O where’s the hand that guided us before,
For whose heroic fame we fought and bled?
Inside my sodden castle, dripping dew–
These hanging roots my chandeliers then–
There I, bethroned upon a hostile stump,
Bestow effulgent gold to absent men.
Immortal honour gilds your holy name
In glory–ours to rust, to waste, the same.