The night had twice in sable triumph reign'd,
And twice the circling light its empire gain'd:
When from his high apartment  sees
A lofty temple, through the waving trees,
To  vow'd: He from the gilded dome,
Ravish'd, beheld a beauteous virgin come.
An artless modesty improves her face,
An elegant reserve, and matchless grace;
A rosy tincture in her cheeks appears,
Lovely as that the blooming morning wears:
Her eyes a sprightly blue; her length of hair
Dishevell'd hung, like threads of silver fair.
Long strings of jet and pearl, in mingled twists,
Adorn'd her well-shap'd neck, and slender wrists.
Her robes were heav'nly azure, sprinkled o'er
With stars; a crescent on her breast she wore.