He loosed, and from his steed alighted down,
To wait until that fountain, trickling slow,
Shall in the end his golden goblet crown.
VI.
When set beside the promise of that draught,
How poor had seemed to him the costliest wine,
That ever with its beaded bubbles laughed,—
When set beside that nectar more divine.
VII.
The brimming vessel to his lips at last