Many ages ago, near the high Hartz, there dwelt A rude race of blood-loving giants, who felt No joy but the fierce one which Carnage bestows, When her foul lips are clogged with the blood of her foes. ...
It is in sooth a lovely tress, Still curled in many a ring, As glossy as the plumes that dress The raven's jetty wing. And the broad and soul-illumined brow, Above whose arch it grew,...