And peeping from the trees, the imps too plain
Shot darts of rage from their green orbs of sight:
She heard their gibberings, and she mark’d their spite;
And, while they eyed her form, their care she saw
To grind their teeth, and whet each cruel claw.
Demons alike, the monarch-demon’s breast
Appear’d least fierce; of ills she chose the best,
Sought, where profaned her coral rosary lay,
Then slowly mounted where he show’d the way.
Cautious he led her tow’rds his lone abode,