Or tell us of Siegfried’s blooming bride,
Or the priest who was plunged in the Rhine’s cold tide
For indulging his wishes wrong.”
The old man sung a sentimental strain,
A song of love, its wishes, hopes, and fears;
And while he sung his colour came again,
His eye blazed brightly as in former years,
When it was quickly kindled by disdain,
Nor dimmed, as often now, by bitter tears.
These very words, with true poetic fire,