LV.
"I fetch her!"—"Yes, an't like your majesty;
And as she would be frighten'd wide awake,
To travel such a distance through the sky,
Use of some soft manœuvre you must make,
For your convenience, and her dear nerves' sake;
Nice way would be to bring her in a swoon,
Anon, I'll tell what course were best to take;
You must away this morning." "Hum! so soon?"
"Sire, you must be in Kent by twelve o'clock at noon."
LVI.
At this great Cæsar started on his feet.
Lifted his wings, and stood attentive-wise.
"Those wings to Canterbury you must beat,
If you hold Bertha as a worthy prize,
Look in the Almanac—Moore never lies—
April the twenty-fourth,—this coming day,
Now breathing its new bloom upon the skies,
Will end in St Mark's eve;—you must away
For on that eve alone can you the maid convey."
LVII.
Then the magician solemnly 'gan to frown
So that his frost-white eyebrows, beetling low,
Shaded his deep green eyes, and wrinkles brown
Plaited upon his furnace-scorched brow:
Forth from his hood that hung his neck below,
He lifted a bright casket of pure gold,
Touch'd a spring lock, and there in wool or snow,
Charm'd into ever freezing, lay an old
And legend-leaved book, mysterious to behold.
