| Ay, this is he — the statue rather battered |
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| Now with the sound of that great knight's slow saying |
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| We are led forth amid the mystic moan |
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| But they depart, shy-blushing, backward-glancing |
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| I hold my goblet up, and each scintilla |
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| Hoc discunt omnes, ante Alpha et Beta |
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| Strange; for it is not long since her white form |
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| That wild free song which will not wear a fetter |
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| If we are weak with immemorial strife |
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| O virgin world! O marvellous far days! |
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