When an outcast met his eyes,—
Fair in form, with painted face,—
Where some straggling dwellings rise.
"Maiden, hail!"—"Thanks! welcome here!
Stay!—I'll join thee in the road.'
"Who art thou?"—"A Bayadere,
And this house is love's abode."
The cymbal she hastens to play for the dance,
Well skill'd in its mazes the sight to entrance,
Then by her with grace is the nosegay bestow'd.
Then she draws him, as in play,
O'er the threshold eagerly:
"Beauteous stranger, light as day