Behold the servants Ready for thy descent; and now skip down And smooth the creases from thy coat, and order The laces on thy breast; a little stoop, And on thy snowy stockings bend a glance, And then erect thyself and strut away Either to pace the promenade alone,-- 'T is thine, if 't please thee walk; or else to draw Anigh the carriages of other dames. Thou clamberest up, and thrustest in thy head And arms and shoulders, half thyself within The carriage door. There let thy laughter rise So loud that from afar thy lady hear, And rage to hear, and interrupt the wit Of other heroes who had swiftly run Amid the dusk to keep her company While thou wast absent. O ye powers supreme, Suspend the night, and let the noble deeds Of my young hero shine upon the world In the clear day! Nay, night must follow still Her own inviolable laws, and droop With silent shades over one half the globe; And slowly moving on her dewy feet, She blends the varied colors infinite, And with the border of her mighty garments Blots everything; the sister she of Death Leaves but one aspect indistinct, one guise To fields and trees, to flowers, to birds and beasts, And to the great and to the lowly born, Confounding with the painted cheek of beauty The haggard face of want, and gold with tatters. Nor me will the blind air permit to see Which carriages depart, and which remain, Secret amidst the shades; but from my hand The pencil caught, my hero is involved Within the tenebrous and humid veil.