Myrtle-wreath that more we prize;
Relic of the one dear head
That for each it garlanded.
15
When first to earth thy gentle spirit came
From some soft climate of Elysian field,
Garmented in its own ethereal flame;
When first from heav’n’s high peace it enter’d here,
No armour had it then, nor guarding shield,
Nor sword for safety, nor attacking spear,