Ah! most noble prince,
My mind is filled with grief, when I recall
Thy regal state, thy past magnificence.
No kingly ensigns go before thee now,
No captive kings, brought down to slavery,
Humbly precede thee, casting in the way
Their garments, lest the dust should soil thy feet.
But now! O king! alas, thyself a slave,
Thou livest in this fearful place, begrimed
With filth; thy sacred cord concealed, thy hair
Tangled and long, plunder of dead men's clothes
Thy livelihood. Ah! king! and is thy life
Spent in this awful wise?" So spake the queen,
And falling on his neck, embraced her lord:
While she, sprung from a king herself, bewailed
Her sorrows endless. "King! I pray thee speak!
Is this a dream? If it be real and true,
Then justice, truth, and righteousness have fled
And gone from earth: nor aught avails mankind,
Of sacrifice, or reverence, to gods
Or priests! 'Tis vain to follow innocence
If thou, most perfect, purest of mankind,
Art brought to such a depth of infamy."
Then spoke the king, and told his sorrowing wife
How he had fallen to this wretched state,--
The state of a Cha.
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