Had dipt his brush in life; and as the form
His fancy pictured, slowly—slowly grew,
And woke into broad being, then at last
He knew that he had won his golden prize—
That she was his for ever.
Antwerp’s bells
Rung out right merrily one sunny day;
Blue kirtles, and bright hose, and brighter faces,
Rhenish and sack, dancing and songs were there,
Feasting and music, and mad revelry,