Classic Poem

I.

Upon a couch of golden woof
In royal hall, King Otho lay;
Red banners hung along the roof
Spoke loud of war and battle-day.

II.

His long bright hair fell idly down
Above a cheek of pallid hue;
Though near him lay the imperial crown,
No glance of his faint eyes it drew.

III.

For he was sick, and cold, and weak,
Nor e'en the thought of Rome subdued
Could clear the rust that stained his cheek,
Or soothe his dark distempered mood.

IV.

In stepped to him a hoary lord —
" My Liege! that mocking tale again
A stranger brings, with boastful word
Assevering she can heal thy pain. "

V.

" Now gold be hers, and thanks, and praise!
For men by scores have come to me,
And said that they would ease my days,
And set my laboring spirit free.