That her eyeballs made at so mortal a crash,
The Spark, call'd Vital, departed!
CCCXXXI.
Gold, still gold! hard, yellow, and cold,
For gold she had lived, and she died for gold—
By a golden weapon—not oaken;
In the morning they found her all alone—
Stiff, and bloody, and cold as stone—
But her Leg, the Golden Leg, was gone,