When glistering spangles deck the robe of night,
And all their kine in pens avoid the cold,
The buxom troops, still eager of delight,
Round Damon's eyne a drapet white infold,
He darkling gropes till he some one can hold.
Next Cori hides his head, and must impart
What wanton fair-one smote his hand so bold.
He Delia names, nor did from truth depart;
For well he knew her touch, who long had fir'd his heart.