With fragrance filled and golden beams.
She cast on all a glance as proud
As looks Jove’s eagle from the cloud,
Yet mild as are the doves that bear
The car of Venus through the air.
O Axel! Wounds soon lose their smart,
And nothing but the scars remain.
Thy breast is healed, thy thoughts are sane,
But ah! how is it with thy heart?
Look not so fondly at the hand