The painted fantasy blow on blow;
"Thou tyrannous man, thy doom is spelt!"
She gave it another frightful welt,
Then turned to go.
But the master, rolling upon the floor,
Leapt up to his feet like a mountain kid,
And "Swipe it," he said, "sweet maid, once more
Just here where the axe hit not before;"
And swipe she did.
He pressed his bosom, his eyes were wet,