Not golden-hued her locks, like those which deck
The brow of Freya; down her ivory neck
Part flow in ebon ringlets, part entwine
With many a glossy wreath her front divine:
Not heavenly blue her eyes, like those which grace
The lofty females of the Asar race;
But like two garnets dark they fervent beam,
And fix the heart with soul-subduing gleam.
In just proportion every feature shone,
And all combin’d to form a paragon.