Once more, as if to cross his purpose bent,
The watchful bird,—as if on this one thing,
That drink he should not of that stream, intent,—
Struck from his hand the cup with eager wing.
X.
But when this new defeat his purpose found,
Swift penalty this time the bird must pay;
Hurled down with angry force upon the ground,
Before her master’s feet in death she lay:
XI.