Wherefore else does the Spirit fly
And bid its daily cares good-bye,
  Along with its daily clothing? 
Just as the felon condemn’d to die—­
  With a very natural loathing—­
Leaving the Sheriff to dream of ropes,
From his gloomy cell in a vision elopes,
To a caper on sunny gleams and slopes,
  Instead of a dance upon nothing.

CCCXXV.

Thus, even thus, the Countess slept,
While Death still nearer and nearer crept,
  Like the Thane who smote the sleeping—­
But her mind was busy with early joys,
Her golden treasures and golden toys;
    That flash’d a bright
    And golden light
  Under lids still red with weeping.

CCCXXVI.

The golden doll that she used to hug! 
Her coral of gold, and the golden mug! 
  Her godfather’s golden presents! 
The golden service she had at her meals,
The golden watch, and chain, and seals,
Her golden scissors, and thread, and reels,
  And her golden fishes and pheasants!

CCCXXVII.

The golden guineas in silken purse—­
And the Golden Legends she heard from her nurse
  Of the Mayor in his gilded carriage—­
And London streets that were paved with gold—­
And the Golden Eggs that were laid of old—­
    With each golden thing
    To the golden ring
  At her own auriferous Marriage!

CCCXXVIII.

And still the golden light of the sun
Through her golden dream appear’d to run,
Though the night, that roared without, was one
  To terrify seamen or gypsies—­
While the moon, as if in malicious mirth,
Kept peeping down at the ruffled earth,
As though she enjoy’d the tempest’s birth,
  In revenge of her old eclipses.

CCCXXIX.

But vainly, vainly, the thunder fell,
For the soul of the Sleeper was under a spell
  That time had lately embitter’d—­
The Count, as once at her foot he knelt—­
That foot, which now he wanted to melt! 
But—­hush!—­’twas a stir at her pillow she felt—­
  And some object before her glitter’d.

CCCXXX.

’Twas the Golden Leg!—­she knew its gleam! 
And up she started and tried to scream,—­
  But ev’n in the moment she started
Down came the limb with a frightful smash,
And, lost in the universal flash
That her eyeballs made at so mortal a crash,
  The Spark, call’d Vital, departed!

* * * * *

CCCXXXI.

Gold, still gold! hard, yellow, and cold,
For gold she had lived, and she died for gold—­
  By a golden weapon—­not oaken;
In the morning they found her all alone—­
Stiff, and bloody, and cold as stone—­
But her Leg, the Golden Leg, was gone,
  And the “Golden Bowl was broken!”