Beholding thee and this fair place, methinks, I call to mind where wander'd and how look'd Proserpine, in that season, when her child The mother lost, and she the bloomy spring.' "As when a lady, turning in the dance, Doth foot it featly, and advances scarce One step before the other to the ground; Over the yellow and vermilion flowers Thus turned she at my suit, most maiden-like Veiling her sober eyes; and came so near, That I distinctly caught the dulcet sound. Arriving where the limpid waters now Laved the green swerd, her eyes she deigned to raise, That shot such splendor on me, as I ween Ne'er glanced from Cytherea's, when her son Had sped his keenest weapon to her heart. Upon the opposite bank she stood and smiled; As through her graceful fingers shifted still The intermingling dyes, which without seed That lofty land unbosoms. By the stream Three paces only were we sunder'd: yet, The Hellespont, where Xerxes pass'd it o'er (A curb forever to the pride of man), Was by Leander not more hateful held For floating, with inhospitable wave, 'Twixt Sestus and Abydos, than by me That flood, because it gave no passage thence. "'Strangers ye come; and haply in this place, That cradled human nature in her birth, Wondering, ye not without suspicion view My smiles: but that sweet strain of psalmody, "Thou, Lord! hast made me glad," will give ye light, Which may uncloud your minds. * * * * *