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Yet still enwrapped close. When noontide brings
Their worshipped deity to his wonted shrine
O'er their blue-bosomed lake, they fondly rise,
To greet and welcome him with every charm
That lavish Nature has endowed them with:
And ne'er did forms more exquisitely fair,
More stately, chaste, or beautiful, emerge
From earth to tell her praise.
Oh! well might they,
The dusk, untutored Indians, bend before
Such perfect loveliness in adoration;
Well might they deem some god or spirit shrined
Within so bright a temple!
And shall we
In fancy e'er create a meaner flower
The sovereign of these sweet and beauteous ones?
No—seek the Lilies' still, calm haunts, and see
The waters sporting round their pearly cups,
And flinging sunny gleams upon their snow,
Like smiles and blushes o'er a maidens cheek.
—If ye e'er gazed on aught more beautiful,
Oh! tell me what it was—for ne'er have I.
