"Shell bracelets, ho! See, maiden; see! The rich enamel, sunbeam-kist! Happy, oh happy, shalt thou be, Let them but clasp that slender wrist; These bracelets are a mighty charm; They keep a lover ever true, And widowhood avert, and harm. Buy them, and thou shalt never rue. Just try them on!"--She stretched her hand. "Oh, what a nice and lovely fit! No fairer hand in all the land, And lo! the bracelet matches it." Dazzled, the peddler on her gazed, Till came the shadow of a fear, While she the bracelet-arm upraised Against the sun to view more clear. Oh, she was lovely! but her look Had something of a high command That filled with awe. Aside she shook Intruding curls, by breezes fanned, And blown across her brows and face, And asked the price; which when she heard She nodded, and with quiet grace For payment to her home referred. "And where, O maiden, is thy house? But no,--that wrist-ring has a tongue; No maiden art thou, but a spouse, Happy, and rich, and fair, and young." "Far otherwise; my lord is poor, And him at home thou shalt not find; Ask for my father; at the door Knock loudly; he is deaf, but kind. Seest thou that lofty gilded spire, Above these tufts of foliage green? That is our place; its point of fire Will guide thee o'er the tract between." "That is the temple spire."--"Yes, there We live; my father is the priest; The manse is near, a building fair, But lowly to the temple's east. When thou hast knocked, and seen him, say, His daughter, at Dhamaser Ghat, Shell bracelets bought from thee to-day, And he must pay so much for that. Be sure, he will not let thee pass Without the value, and a meal. If he demur, or cry alas! No money hath he,--then reveal; "Within the small box, marked with streaks Of bright vermilion, by the shrine, The key whereof has lain for weeks Untouched, he'll find some coin,--'tis mine. That will enable him to pay The bracelet's price. Now fare thee well!" She spoke; the peddler went away, Charmed with her voice as by some spell; While she, left lonely there, prepared To plunge into the water pure, And like a rose, her beauty bared, From all observance quite secure. Not weak she seemed, nor delicate; Strong was each limb of flexile grace, And full the bust; the mien elate, Like hers, the goddess of the chase On Latmos hill,--and oh the face Framed in its cloud of floating hair! No painter's hand might hope to trace The beauty and the glory there! Well might the peddler look with awe, For though her eyes were soft, a ray Lit them at times, which kings who saw Would never dare to disobey.