Iv

And we may see the Satyrs in the shades Of drowsy dells pipe, and, goat-footed, dance; And Pan himself reel rollicking through the glades; Or, hidden in bosky bow'rs, the Lust, perchance, Faun-like, that waits with heated, animal glance The advent of the Loveliness that wades Thigh-deep through flowers, naked as Romance, All unsuspecting, till two hairy arms Clasp her rebellious beauty, panting white, Whose tearful terror, struggling into might, Beats the brute brow resisting, but evades Not him, for whom the gods designed her charms.