Of music, handed him upon their knees
The wine of heaven in a cup of gold,
And still in soft melodious under-song
Hailing me Prince of Poland!—‘Segismund,’
They said, ‘Our Prince! The Prince of Poland!’ and
Again, ‘Oh, welcome, welcome, to his own,
Our own Prince Segismund—’
Oh, but a blast—
One blast of the rough mountain air! one look
At the grim features—— (He goes to the window)