Her eyes! so full of witchery,
Glow like the Nigris[[244]] tenderly,
Her arching brows their magic fling,
Dark as the raven’s glossy wing.
Soft o’er her blooming cheek is spread
The rich pomegranate’s vivid red;
Her musky ringlets unconfined
In clustering meshes roll behind.
Possessed of every sportive wile,
’Tis heaven, ’tis bliss, to see her smile.”