Had risen before her sight.
She stood by the brink of a fountain clear—
In its waters her beauty view’d,
When Death, with his haggard face, drew near,
And before the maiden stood.
“Fair damsel,” he said, with a courtly pride,
“To thee I this goblet quaff,”
But she turned with a buoyant step aside,
And fled with a ringing laugh.
He journey’d on, where an old man sat