Of freedom fetter’d. You may live the slave;
But I choose freedom!”
And, as then she left,
“You lawless,” thought I, “will you always prove
The water Undine of my wilderness,
All maddening, with strange metamorphoses,
My faint love thirsting to refresh itself?”—
XXIV.
Oft while I this would moot, she changed, and seem’d
A fount of laughter now that sprang within,