And now the morning sun was high, De Vaux was weary, faint, and dry; When lo! a plashing sound he hears, A gladsome signal that he nears Some frolic water-run; And soon he reach'd a court-yard square, Where, dancing in the sultry air, Toss'd high aloft, a fountain fair Was sparkling in the sun. On right and left, a fair arcade, In long perspective view displayed Alleys and bowers, for sun or shade: But, full in front, a door, Low-brow'd and dark, seem'd as it led To the lone dwelling of the dead, Whose memory was no more. Here stopp'd De Vaux an instant's space, To bathe his parched lips and face, And mark'd with well-pleased eye, Refracted on the fountain stream, In rainbow hues, the dazzling beam Of that gay summer sky. His senses felt a mild control, Like that which lulls the weary soul, From contemplation high Relaxing, when the ear receives The music that the greenwood leaves Make to the breezes' sigh. And oft in such a dreamy mood, The half-shut eye can frame Fair apparitions in the wood, As if the nymphs of field and flood In gay procession came. Are these of such fantastic mould, Seen distant down the fair arcade, These maids enlink'd in sister-fold, Who, late at bashful distance staid, Now tripping from the greenwood shade, Nearer the musing champion draw, And, in a pause of seeming awe, Again stand doubtful now?-- Ah, that sly pause of witching powers! That seems to say, "To please be ours, Be yours to tell us how." Their hue was of the golden glow That suns of Candahar bestow, O'er which in slight suffusion, flows A frequent tinge of paly rose; Their limbs were fashion'd fair and free, In nature's justest symmetry; And, wreathed with flowers, with odours graced, Their raven ringlets reached the waist: In eastern pomp, its gilding pale The hennah lent each shapely nail, And the dark sumah gave the eye More liquid and more lustrous dye. The spotless veil of misty lawn, In studied disarrangement, drawn The form and bosom o'er, To win the eye, or tempt the touch, For modesty show'd all too much-- Too much, yet promised more. "Gentle Knight, a while delay," Thus they sung, "thy toilsome way, While we pay the duty due To our Master and to you. Over Avarice, over Fear, Love triumphant led thee here; Warrior, list to us, for we Are slaves to Love, are friends to thee. Though no treasured gems have we, To proffer on the bended knee, Though we boast nor arm nor heart For the assagay or dart, Swains allow each simple girl Ruby lip and teeth of pearl! Or, if dangers more you prize, Flatterers find them in our eyes.