So sweet the gloom that shades each face,
So soft of every tear the trace,
’Tis scarcely marked the while.
His daughters with fond hands undo
The shining helmet from his brow;
His consort courts the mute caress—
While they with emulous gentleness
Bear water from the crystal spring,
And bathe his front, and o’er him fling
Flowers whose rich odors well might seem