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KENSINGTON GARDEN.
Whence through his veins the powerful juices ran,And form'd in beauteous miniature the man.Yet still, two inches taller than the rest,His lofty port his human birth confess'd,A foot in height, how stately did he show!How look superior on the crowd below!What knight like him could toss the rushy lance?Who move so graceful in the mazy dance?A shape so nice, or features half so fair,What elf could boast? or such a flow of hair?Bright Kenna saw, a princess born to reign,And felt the charmer burn in every vein.She, heiress to this empires potent lord,Praised like the stars, and next the moon adored,She, whom at distance thrones and princedoms view'd,To whom proud Oriel and Azuriel sued,In her high palace languish'd, void of joy,And pined in secret for a mortal boy. He too was smitten, and discreetly stroveBy courtly deeds to gain the virgins love.For her he cull'd the fairest flowers that grew,Ere morning suns had drain'd their fragrant dew;He chased the hornet in his mid-day flightAnd brought her glow-worms in the noon of night;When on ripe fruits she cast a wishing eye,Did ever Albion think the tree too high!
