“Come, if the notes thine ear may pierce, Come, youngest of the lovely three, Submissive to the mighty verse And the dear voice of harmony, By none more deeply felt than thee! I sang; and lo! from pastures virginal She hastens to the haunts Of Nature, and the lonely elements. _Air sparkles round her with a dazzling sheen_; And mark, her glowing cheek, her vesture green! And, as if wishful to disarm Or to repay the potent charm, She bears the stringed lute of old romance, That cheered the trellissed arbour’s privacy, And soothed war-wearied knights in raftered hall. How vivid, yet how delicate, her glee! So tripped the muse, inventress of the dance; So, truant in waste woods, the blithe Euphrosyne!” But the ringlets of that head, Why are they ungarlanded? Why bedeck her temples less Than the simplest shepherdess? Is it not a brow inviting Choicest flowers that ever breathed, Which the myrtle would delight in, With Idalian rose enwreathed? But her humility is well content With _one_ wild floweret (call it not forlorn),-- FLOWER OF THE WINDS--beneath her bosom worn-- Yet more for love than ornament.” Then follows that beautiful description of her moral graces, already quoted in these pages, beginning-- “Open ye thickets! let her fly, Swift as a Thracian nymph, o’er field and height;” the whole picture being as fine a conception, and as rich an embodyment, of this sweet Dora,--judging from her portrait in the second volume of the “Memoirs,” and from numerous written and spoken reports of her person and character,--as the highest genius and the highest art combined, could possibly have produced. And now for Miss Coleridge:-- “Last of the three, tho’ eldest born, Reveal thyself, like pensive morn Touched by the skylark’s earliest note, E’er humble-gladness be afloat. But whether in the semblance drest Of dawn, or eve, fair vision of the west, Come, with each anxious hope subdued By woman’s gentle fortitude, Each grief, thro’ meekness, settling into rest. --Or I would hail thee when some high-wrought page Of a closed volume, lingering in thine hand, Has raised thy spirit to a peaceful stand Among the glories of a happy age.” And, behold! she is here:--