Anecdote of Francis I
His hand on high he proudly waved.
His steed shot o'er the plain.
And loud exultingly he cried,
"I am a king again!"
His white plume nodded o'er his brow.
His eye flashed vivid fire.
His heart leapt up; what was he now?
All that he could desire
Before him, all was fairest France;
Behind, his dungeon, Spain;
Above him was the light of hope.
And he was king again.
A king again, a king again!
What joy was in his breast!
Possessing all that e'ever his heart
Could wish to have possessed.
But late a captive in his cell,
Now broken was his chain;
What were his feelings when he cried,
'I am a king again!"