And here the fat man started and looked down
And filled his tumbler to the foaming crown
And held it high as if to pledge the king.
Some memory seemed to stir within his breast
As though the curtain of old days were torn,
And, as he drained the glass with eager zest,
"Behold," I thought, "I wronged him. In that nest,
So far from turmoil, full of old-world rest
(He is about to tell me), he was born.
"And now, before the antique spire hath fled,