His noble city lying at his feet,
And his broad park, tinged by the sun's slant rays
A thousand softly rich and varied shades.

Still on this scene of grandeur, plenty, peace
And ever-varying beauty, he would gaze
With sadness. He had heard these prophecies,
And felt the unrest in that great world within,
Hid from our blinded eyes, yet ever near,
The very soul and life of this dead world,
Which seers and prophets open-eyed have seen,
On which the dying often raptured gaze,
And where they live when they are mourned as dead.
This world was now astir, foretelling day.
"A king shall come, they say, to rule the world,
If he will rule; but whence this mighty king?
My years decline apace, and yet no son
Of mine to rule or light my funeral pile."

One night Queen Maya, sleeping by her lord,
Dreamed a strange dream; she dreamed she saw a star
Gliding from heaven and resting over her;
She dreamed she heard strange music, soft and sweet,
So distant "joy and peace" was all she heard.
In joy and peace she wakes, and waits to know
What this strange dream might mean, and whence it came.

Drums, shells and trumpets sound for joy, not war;
The streets are swept and sprinkled with perfumes,
And myriad lamps shine from each house and tree,