XIV.
Here paused the sage, and waved his hand,
The fiat of his high command—
‘Monarch, thy will shall be obey’d,’
Was all the plumed chieftain said,
As round his brawny limbs he drew{[8]}
His feathery mantle, broad and blue,
And left the hall with lofty mein,
Plunged in the grove, nor more was seen.
END OF CANTO FIRST.