"O Lady, worthy of earth's proudest throne! Nor less, by excellence of nature, fit Beside an unambitious hearth to sit Domestic queen, where grandeur is unknown; 55 What living man could fear The worst of Fortune's malice, wert Thou near, Humbling that lily-stem, thy sceptre meek, That its fair flowers may from his cheek Brush the too happy tear?[526] 60 ---- Queen, and handmaid lowly! Whose skill can speed the day with lively cares, And banish melancholy By all that mind invents or hand prepares; O Thou, against whose lip, without its smile 65 And in its silence even, no heart is proof; Whose goodness, sinking deep, would reconcile The softest Nursling of a gorgeous palace To the bare life beneath the hawthorn-roof Of Sherwood's Archer,[527] or in caves of Wallace-- Who that hath seen thy beauty could content 71 His soul with but a _glimpse_ of heavenly day? Who that hath loved thee, but would lay His strong hand on the wind, if it were bent To take thee in thy majesty away? 75 --Pass onward (even the glancing deer Till we depart intrude not here;) That mossy slope, o'er which the woodbine throws A canopy, is smoothed for thy repose!" Glad moment is it[528] when the throng 80 Of warblers in full concert strong Strive, and not vainly strive, to rout The lagging shower, and force coy Phoebus out, Met by the rainbow's form divine, Issuing from her cloudy shrine;-- 85 So may the thrillings of the lyre Prevail to further our desire, While to these shades a sister Nymph I call. "Come, if the notes thine ear may pierce, Come, youngest of the lovely Three,[529] 90 Submissive to the might of verse And the dear voice of harmony, By none[530] more deeply felt than Thee!" --I sang; and lo! from pastimes virginal She hastens to the tents 95 Of nature, and the lonely elements. Air sparkles round her with a dazzling sheen; But[531] mark her glowing cheek, her vesture green! And, as if wishful to disarm Or to repay the potent Charm, 100 She bears the stringèd lute of old romance, That cheered the trellised arbour's privacy, And soothed war-wearied knights in raftered hall. How vivid, yet[532] how delicate, her glee! So tripped the Muse, inventress of the dance; 105 So, truant in waste woods, the blithe Euphrosyne![533]