Where the Lord Almighty also
Every good religious doctrine
And the holy ten commandments
Publish’d in a storm of lightning.
Schalet is the pure ambrosia
That the food of heaven composes—
Is the bread of Paradise;
And compared with food so glorious,
The ambrosia of the spurious
Heathen gods whom Greece once worshipp’d
And were naught but muffled devils,
Was but wretched devil’s dung.
When the prince this food hath tasted,
Gleams his eye as if transfigured,
And his waistcoat he unbuttons,
And he speaks with smiles of rapture:
“Hear I not the Jordan murmuring?
“Is it not the gushing fountains
“In the palmy vale of Beth-El,
“Where the camels have their station?
“Hear I not the sheep-bells ringing?
“Is it not the well-fed wethers
“Whom the herdsman drives at evening
“Down from Gilead’s lofty mountain?”
Yet the beauteous day fades quickly;
As with long and shadowy legs
Hastens on the fell enchantment’s
Evil hour, the prince sighs sadly,
Feeling as though with his bosom
Icy witches’ fingers grappled;
He’s pervaded by the fear of
Canine metamorphosis.
To the prince then hands the princess
Her own golden box of spikenard;
Long he smells, once more desiring
To find comfort in sweet odours.
Next the parting drink the princess
Gives the prince—He hastily
Drinks, and in the goblet only
Some few drops are left untasted.