THE KING IN DISGUISE
Leo, an ancient monk, was passing near
A forest path, a volume in his hand;
The hallowed page he scanned with reverent eye,
A brother he, of neighbouring hermit band.
" O! Father, hither turn and list my tale."
So spake a dame who saw him pass the way.
" Alfred our King was here within my cot."
" The King ? " quoth he. " Alack ! and well-a-day."
" Why weep ?" " Because I smote him on the cheek."
" The King ? " " 'Tis true, this very hand of mine
I raised in ire, and struck him, is it not
As if I smote the majesty divine ? " !
" A marvel, dame, thou tellest. Wherefore smite ? "
" I took him for an idly wandering hind,
And bade him tend these ruined ember-cakes,
Whilst I passed thence some straggling sheaves to bind.
" I chid his lack of heed, and smote his face;
For lo! the cakes were spoiled when I returned;
But soon his courtiers came, and, woe is me!
Oh ! that my cot and all therein were burned ! "
The hermit paused a while ; then sudden tears
Gushed from his eyes. The dame was sore amazed.
The stream became a torrent, forth it flowed,
While she upon the novel portent gazed.
" Why weepest thou ? Thou didst not strike a King."
" Yea, but I did, and many a time," quoth he.
" The King ?" " The King, the very King indeed ;
The only King, and that right knowingly."
" How didst thou know ? " " For God doth walk with us.
He wears a mask, in sooth, a thin disguise:
The raiment of the outcast, and the waif—
Disguise soon pierced through by believing eyes.
" Unto the right and left, upon that day,
The King shall speak, 'mid clouds and majesty :
Whate'er thou didst to e'en the least of these,
That very same thou didst it unto Me."
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