He raised the silver cup on high, Swell'd his old veins, and cheer'd his soul; Ere thus his tale again began. Canto Third. I. ND said I that my limbs were old, And that I might not sing of love?— How could I to the dearest theme, That ever warm'd a minstrel's dream, So foul, so false a recreant prove! How could I name love's very name, Nor wake my heart to notes of flame! |