CXII.

His eyes he open'd, shut, again unclosed,
For all was doubt and dizziness; methought
He still was in the boat, and had but dozed,
And felt again with his despair o'erwrought,

And wish'd it death in which he had reposed,

And then once more his feelings back were brought, And slowly by his swimming eyes was seen A lovely female face of seventeen.

CXIII.

'Twas bending close o'er his, and the small mouth
Seem'd almost prying into his for breath;
And chafing him, the soft warm hand of youth
Recall'd his answering spirits back from death;

And, bathing his chill temples, tried to soothe
Each pulse to animation, till beneath
Its gentle touch and trembling care, a sigh
To these kind efforts made a low reply.

CXIV.

Then was the cordial pour'd, and mantle flung

Around his scarce-clad limbs; and the fair arm Raised higher the faint head which o'er it hung;

And her transparent cheek, all pure and warm, Pillow'd his death-like forehead; then she wrung

His dewy curls, long drench'd by every storm; And watch'd with eagerness each throb that drew A sigh from his heaved bosom-and hers, too.

CXV.

And lifting him with care into the cave,
The gentle girl, and her attendant,-one
Young, yet her elder, and of brow less grave,

And more robust of figure,-then begun

To kindle fire, and as the new flames gave

Light to the rocks that roof'd them, which the sun

Had never seen, the maid, or whatsoe'er

She was, appear'd distinct, and tall, and fair.

CXVI.

Her brow was overhung with coins of gold,
That sparkled o'er the auburn of her hair,
Her clustering hair, whose longer locks were roll'd
In braids behind, and though her stature were
Even of the highest for a female mould,

They nearly reach'd her heel; and in her air There was a something which bespoke command, As one who was a lady in the land.

CXVII.

Her hair, I said, was auburn; but her eyes
Were black as death, their lashes the same hue,
Of downcast length, in whose silk shadow lies
Deepest attraction, for when to the view
Forth from its raven fringe the full glance flies,

Ne'er with such force the swiftest arrow flew; "Tis as the snake late coil'd, who pours his length, And hurls at once his venom and his strength.

N

CXVIII.

Her brow was white and low, her cheek's pure dye

Like twilight rosy still with the set sun;

Short upper lip-sweet lips! that make us sigh
Ever to have seen such; for she was one
Fit for the model of a statuary,

(A race of mere impostors, when all's doneI've seen much finer women, ripe and real,

Than all the nonsense of their stone ideal.)

CXIX.

I'll tell you why I say so, for 'tis just

One should not rail without a decent cause:

There was an Irish lady, to whose bust

I ne'er saw justice done, and yet she was A frequent model; and if e'er she must

Yield to stern Time and Nature's wrinkling laws, They will destroy a face which mortal thought

Ne'er compass'd, nor less mortal chisel wrought.

CXX.

And such was she, the lady of the cave:

Her dress was very different from the Spanish, Simpler, and yet of colours not so grave ;

For, as you know, the Spanish women banish Bright hues when out of doors, and yet, while wave Around them (what I hope will never vanish) The basquina and the mantilla, they

Seem at the same time mystical and gay.

CXXI.

But with our damsel this was not the case:
Her dress was many-colour'd, finely spun;

Her locks curl'd negligently round her face,

But through them gold and gems profusely shone;

Her girdle sparkled, and the richest lace

Flow'd in her veil, and many a precious stone

Flash'd on her little hand; but, what was shocking, Her small snow feet had slippers, but no stocking.