When they struck off their soul-enraptured tune!
For there he sat, crown’d with the purple vine,
And by his side his goblet of red wine:
At every strain which lifted up his soul
The monarch smil’d, and bow’d, inclined the bowl:
Again, again, he smote his sunburnt breast,
And sent Orion[112] to hunt down a beast,—
To Comus[113] also to prepare a feast,—
That he might entertain the goddesses,
And make them creatures of much happiness.