"She spake, I, drawing from beside my thigh
The faulchion keen, with death denouncing looks,
Rush'd on her,—she, with a shrill scream of fear,
Ran under my raised arm, seized fast my knees,
And in winged accents plaintive thus began:—
'Who, whence thy city, and thy birth declare,—
Amazed I see thee with that potion drenched,
Yet unenchanted: never man before
Once passed it through his lips and lived the same.