Of mother mountain-bred, a stripling hero;
And the soft down is creeping o'er his cheeks,
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Youth's growth, and hair that floweth full and thick;
And he with soul, not maiden's like his name,[[103]]
But stern, with flashing eye, is standing there.
Nor stands he at the gate without a vaunt;
For on his brass-wrought buckler, strong defence,
Full-orbed, his body guarding, he the shame
Of this our city bears, the ravenous Sphinx,