All phantasies, not even excepting mine!
A grey wall, a green ruin, rusty pike,
Make my soul pass the equinoctial line
Between the present and past worlds, and hover
Upon their airy confines, half-seas-over.
LXII.
But Juan posted on through Mannheim, Bonn,
Which Drachenfels[550] frowns over like a spectre
Of the good feudal times for ever gone,
On which I have not time just now to lecture.