The Westminster Gazette, XXXIII (9 June i gog), ?. 

When I Was King. 

I see it in the smoke-land
  After my daily bout 
With the hard, old world of reason,--
  I see my splendid rout, 
The time I trod Valhalla 
  And chose my goddess out.
 
Yet 'twas not I who chose her,
  A spirit took my part, 
Lit up my vagrant fancies
  With a gleam of heaven's art,
Led on my lost battalions
  Cheered on my coward heart.
 
It was a thing of glory,
  The temple that I wrought,
Though ev'ry column in it
  With living hope was bought,--
A temple fit for Juno,
  As even Juno thought.

She saw me as a Viking,
  With strength no Viking had;
She saw me as a Bayard,
  The sane among the mad.
She deemed it brave to fear me,
  My coldness made her glad.
 
Scarce would she let me love her
  Lest I forgo my crown,
And be no more a hero
  To bend men with a frown.
(Methinks I was a hero
  Who threw a hero down!)

So bit by bit I showed her
  The wonders of the shrine,
The temple of my manhood
  I reared to charm her eyne. 
And then--ah, had I faltered
  Nor blotted the design!

But no. Behind the altar
  I pointed to a door,
And opened it, and waited,
  Erect and calm as Thor.
Her worship fell to scorning,
  And lifted nevermore.

Ev'n then, if I had grovelled,
  Condemning my deceit,
Her white, majestic bosom
  Mayhap to mine had beat. 
But a fire of strength burned in me
  With more than human heat. 

For I am weak as water,
  The might I made her see
Was breath of some far power
  That willed to make me free,
A moment's king of heaven,
  Too tall for one low plea.
 
'Tis gone, my painted temple,
  Elysium of fraud;
But she, in her despising 
  Some other vessel Hawed,
May think of my Valhalla 
  And me, her broken god. 

R. T. CHANDLER.