LXVIII

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LXVIII

Then Elfinan swift vaulted from the floor,

And lighted graceful on the window-sill;

Under one arm the magic book he bore,

The other he could wave about at will;

Pale was his face, he still look’d very ill:

He bow’d at Bellanaine, and said⁠—“Poor Bell!

Farewell! farewell! and if for ever! still

For ever fare thee well!”⁠—and then he fell

A laughing!⁠—snapp’d his fingers!⁠—shame it is to tell!