97
CORINNA.
She stood alone; but on her every eye
Dwelt in mute ravishment; her long black hair
Flew loose upon the gale, but half confin'd
By the light veil and wreathes of braided rose,
Shading her bosom's matchless ivory,
And fell upon the lyre, like hyacinths
Twin'd fancifully round; a pensive shade
Was on the brightness of her deep blue eyes,
Where the sweet tenderness of woman's glance
Softened the minstrel's fire that sparkled there.—
The song arose; it was just such a strain
