CAPUT XIX.
But, resembling beauty’s trefoil,
In the midst of the procession
Figures three I noticed; ne’er I
Can forget those lovely women.
Easily the first one knew I
By the crescent on her forehead;
Like a statue pure, all-proudly
Onward rode the mighty goddess.
High up-turn’d appear’d her tunic,
Half her breast and hip disclosing;
Torchlight, moonlight both were playing
Gaily round her snowy members.
White as marble were her features,
Cold as marble too; and fearful
Was the numbness and the paleness
Of that face, so stern and noble.
Yet within her black eye plainly
Terribly but sweetly sparkled
A mysterious, glowing fire,
Spirit-dazzling and consuming.
O, how alter’d was Diana
Who, with haughty chastity,
To a stag once turn’d Acteon,
And as prey to dogs abandon’d!
Does she expiate this crime now
Join’d to these gallant companions?
Like a wretched spectral creature
Nightly through the air she travels.
Late, indeed, but all the stronger
She to thoughts of lust awakens,
And within her eyes ’tis burning,
Like a very brand of hell.
All the lost time now laments she,
When mankind were far more handsome
And by quantity perchance she
Now makes up for quality.