"Thy heart is set on joys it may not prove,
And, panting ingrate, scorns the blessings given?--
Hoping from dust formed man, a seraph's love
And days on earth like to the days of heaven.


XXIV.

"But to my theme, maiden, a lord for thee,
And not of thee unworthy--I have chose--
Dispel the dread, that in thy looks I see--
Nor make it task of anguish to disclose,

"What should be--thine heart's dew. Remember'st thou
When to the Altar, by thy father reared,
We suppliant went with sacrifice and vow,
A victim-dove escaped? and there appeared

"And would have brought thee others to supply
Its loss, a Median?--thou, dissolved, to praise,
Didst note the beauty of his shape and eye,
And, as he parted, in the sunny rays

"The ringlets of his black locks clustering bright
Around his pillar-neck," ''tis pity he'
Thou saidst, 'in all the comeliness and might
Of perfect man--pity like him, should be

"But an idolater: how nobly sweet
He tempereth pride with courtesy; a flower