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Swift to the fane's recess the Virgin bends
Her sedulous footsteps, from her radiant eyes
Mildly majestie steals the lambent flame,
As gleams the silver Luna's orient ray;
Her cheeks, whose velvet slope Hygeia streaks
With pure vermilion, twin-born roses blush,
Just op'ning to the dawn; her polish'd limbs,
Smooth as the vernal meads, profusely shed
Fair beauty's softest colors; through its folds
Her variegated vest expands the charms
Of purple deck'd with ivory; o'er her mien,
Perfection's fine assemblage, Graces sport
Familiar; say, ye Bards of antient fame,
Why limit thus the Sisters? Hero darts
From either orb, in every smile of love,
Myriads of graces; hail, whom Beauty's Queen,
The first of beauties for her priestess chose!
O'er all, in meek pre-eminence, she moves
Goddess herself of Love, th'incircling youth
Gaze admiration, through each fev'rish pulse
The soft infection thrills, her every step
Their eyes, their souls pursue; they dare to wish
Possession—-'Mid the crowd some dying swain
Breathes
