She smote the cheek of the presumptuous swain.
But nought rebuff’d, again he took the field,
Like chieftain arm’d with brazen helm and shield;
He urged his suit, and met with no success;
A second blow chastised his eagerness.
But since a blow from silken hand of dame
With no dishonour soils a warrior’s name,
Like oil it served to increase the Asa’s flame.
“Once more he to the charge return’d, array’d
This time in guise of lowly waiting-maid: