This female was to Freya unlike in mind and grace,
Yet wit she had and vigour, nor homely was her face:
When mounted on her courser in the dark stormy night,
Under her sable head-dress her eyes gave dazzling light.
Though with impure old witches she revels in the wood,
Yet she herself was blooming in health and youthful blood:
On her fair cheek the tempest the rose’s hue bestow’d;
Her hair adown her shoulders in jetty ringlets flow’d.
Like two white foaming billows her bosom swell’d half-bared;
Her arms smooth and well-rounded; her flesh was plump and hard: