He sang: methought he sang of thee!

“My prince!” I cried—“how knew'st him thou?

His victories in the days to be?

His heaven-like eyes, and king-like brow?”

“O maid! I have not seen thy prince:

Old wars I sang; old victories won

In my far-distant land long since;

I sang the birth of moon and sun.”

VII.

He culled me grapes—the vintager;