to which fusel oil and Jersey lightning are as mild and
And the lubra who sat by the fire on the logs,
To watch, like a mourner, for him :
Like a mother and mourner for him.
Will he go in his sleep from these desolate lands,
Like a chief, to the rest of his race,
With the honey-voiced woman who beckons, and stands,
And gleams like a Dream in his face :
Like a marvellous Dream in his face?