THE BAYADERE.
163
And last the elephant came, whose tower
Held the lord of this pomp and power:
And round that chariot of his pride,
Like chains of white sea-pearls,
Of braids enwove of summer flowers,
Glided fair dancing girls;
And as the rose-leaves fall to earth,
Their light feet touched the ground,—
But for the zone of silver bells
You had not heard a sound,
As, scattering flowers o'er the way,
Whirled round the beautiful array.
But there was one who 'mid them shone
A planet lovely and alone,
A rose, one flower amid many,
But still the loveliest of any:
M 2
