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When every charm and every hope of joy
Enraptured and allured the Trojan boy.
Ah! had that hunter, whose unhappy fate
The human visage lost by Dian's hate,
Had he beheld this fairer goddess move
Not hounds had slain him, but the fires of love.
Adown her neck, more white than virgin snow,
Of softest hue the golden tresses flow;
Her heaving breasts of purer, softer white,
Than snow hills glistening in the moon's pale light,
Except where covered by the sash, were bare,
And love, unseen, smil'd soft, and panted there.
Nor less the zone the god's fond zeal employs,
The zone awakes the flames of secret joys.
