Down from a lowly branch a twig he drew,
The twig strait glittered with a sparkling hue:
He takes a stone, the stone was turned to gold,
A clod he touches, and the crumbling mould
Acknowledged soon the great transforming power,
In weight and substance like a mass of ore.
He plucked the corn, and straight his grasp appears,
Filled with a bending tuft of golden ears.
An apple next he takes, and seems to hold
The bright, Hesperian, vegetable gold.