Shall dwell at ease, and up and down unseen Wing silently the buxom air, embalmed With odours: there ye shall be fed and filled Immeasurably; all things shall be your prey.”

He ceased, for both seemed highly pleased, and Death Grinned horrible a ghastly smile, to hear His famine should be filled, and blest his maw Destined to that good hour. No less rejoiced His mother bad, and thus bespake her sire: