Proud as a prince, and restless as a boy.
He sought to speak, but could not aptly find
Words for his use, they enter’d not his mind;
So full of bliss, that wonder and delight 190
Seem’d in those happy moments to unite.
He was like one who gains, but dreads to lose,
A prize that seems to vanish as he views;
And in his look was wildness and alarm—
Like a sad conjuror, who forgets his charm
And, when the demon at the call appears,