Still would her touch the strain prolong;
And from the rocks, the woods, the vale,
She call’d on Echo still, through all the song:
And, where her sweetest theme she chose,
A soft responsive voice was heard at every close,
And Hope enchanted smil’d, and wav’d her golden hair.
Collins, The Passions, 1747
(4) There often wanders one, whom better days
Saw better clad, in cloak of satin trimmed
With lace, and hat with splendid riband bound.