Gilds a living coronet.

Red-marked sheep that bleat so loudly
Are his courtiers cross-bedight,
Calves that strut before him proudly
Seem each one a stalwart knight.

Goats are actors nimbly springing,
And the cows and warblers gay
With their bell and flute-notes ringing
Form the royal orchestra.

And whene'er the music hushes,
Soft the pine-tree murmurs creep;
Far away a cataract rushes--
Look, our noble king's asleep!

Meanwhile through the kingdom bounding
Rules the dog as minister,
Till his bark from cliffs rebounding
Echoes to the sleeper's ear.

Yawning syllables he utters--
"Ruling is too hard a task.
Were I but at home," he mutters,
"With my queen 'tis all I'd ask.

"On her arm my head reposes
Free from care, how happily!
And her loving glance discloses