There never was king, and never will be, In battle or banquet like Malachi! The seers his reign had predicted long; He honoured the bards, and gave gold for song. If rebels arose, he put out their eyes; If robbers plundered or burned the fanes, He hung them in chaplets, like rosaries, That others beholding might take more pains! There was none to women more reverent-minded, For he held his mother, and Mary, dear; If any man wronged them, that man he blinded, Or straight amerced him of hand or ear. There was none who founded more convents--none; In his palace the old and poor were fed; The orphan might walk, or the widow's son, Without groom or page to his throne or bed. In his council he mused, with great brows divine, And eyes like the eyes of the musing kine, Upholding a sceptre o'er which men said, Seven spirits of wisdom like fire-tongues played. He drained ten lakes, and he built ten bridges; He bought a gold book for a thousand cows; He slew ten princes who brake their pledges; With the bribed and the base he scorned to carouse. He was sweet and awful; through all his reign God gave great harvests to vale and plain; From his nurse's milk he was kind and brave; And when he went down to his well-wept grave, Through the triumph of penance his soul arose To God and the saints. Not so his foes. The King that came after, ah woe, woe, woe! He doubted his friend, and he trusted his foe, He bought and he sold: his kingdom old He pledged and pawned, to avenge a spite: No Bard or prophet his birth foretold: He was guarded and warded both day and night: He counselled with fools and had boors at his feast: He was cruel to Christian and kind to beast: Men smiled when they talked of him far o'er the wave: Well paid were the mourners that wept at his grave. God plagued for his sake his people sore: They sinned; for the people should watch and pray, That their prayers like angels at window and door, May keep from the King the bad thought away!