Page:Pleasant Memories.pdf/352

Methought a dim and slumbrous veil
    Enwrapt the glowing scene,
And strangely stole our wearied eyes,
    And each bright trace between,
And at our side, behold! a king
    His thronging minions met,
Arrayed in all the boasted power
    Of high Plantagenet.

See! see! his sceptered hand is raised
    To shade a haggard brow,
As if constrained to do a deed
    His pride would disallow.
What now, false John! what troubleth thee?
    Finds not thine art some way
To blind or gull the vassal train,
    And hold thy tyrant-sway?

He falters still, with daunted eye
    Turned toward those barons bold,
Whose hands are grappling to their swords
    With firm indignant hold;
The die is cast; he bows him down
    Before those steel-girt men,
And Magna Charta springs to life
    Beneath his trembling pen.