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Tripped the beautiful Princess down the stairs of stone
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Above the fire-place, where great red logs smoulder
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Angrily rose the flood with a mighty murmuring sound
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Ay, this is he — the statue rather battered
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Now with the sound of that great knight's slow saying
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We are led forth amid the mystic moan
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But they depart, shy-blushing, backward-glancing
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I hold my goblet up, and each scintilla
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Hoc discunt omnes, ante Alpha et Beta
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Strange; for it is not long since her white form
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