In this imperial hall, at distance lay Under a canopy, and there reclined Quite in a confidential queenly way, A lady; Baba stopped, and kneeling signed To Juan, who though not much used to pray, Knelt down by instinct, wondering in his mind What all this meant: while Baba bowed and bended His head, until the ceremony ended. XCVI. The lady rising up with such an air As Venus rose with from the wave, on them Bent like an antelope a Paphian pair[fi] Of eyes, which put out each surrounding gem; And raising up an arm as moonlight fair, She signed to Baba, who first kissed the hem Of her deep purple robe, and, speaking low, Pointed to Juan who remained below. XCVII. Her presence was as lofty as her state; Her beauty of that overpowering kind, Whose force Description only would abate: I'd rather leave it much to your own mind, Than lessen it by what I could relate Of forms and features; it would strike you blind Could I do justice to the full detail; So, luckily for both, my phrases fail. XCVIII. Thus much however I may add,--her years Were ripe, they might make six-and-twenty springs, But there are forms which Time to touch forbears, And turns aside his scythe to vulgar things:[fj] Such as was Mary's, Queen of Scots; true--tears And Love destroy; and sapping Sorrow wrings Charms from the charmer, yet some never grow Ugly; for instance--Ninon de l'Enclos.[299] XCIX. She spake some words to her attendants, who Composed a choir of girls, ten or a dozen, And were all clad alike; like Juan, too, Who wore their uniform, by Baba chosen: They formed a very nymph-like looking crew,[300] Which might have called Diana's chorus "cousin," As far as outward show may correspond-- I won't be bail for anything beyond. C. They bowed obeisance and withdrew, retiring, But not by the same door through which came in Baba and Juan, which last stood admiring, At some small distance, all he saw within This strange saloon, much fitted for inspiring Marvel and praise; for both or none things win; And I must say, I ne'er could see the very Great happiness of the "Nil admirari."[301] CI. "Not to admire is all the art I know (Plain truth, dear Murray, needs few flowers of speech)-- To make men happy, or to keep them so" (So take it in the very words of Creech)-- Thus Horace wrote we all know long ago; And thus Pope[302] quotes the precept to re-teach From his translation; but had _none admired_, Would Pope have sung, or Horace been inspired?[303] CII.