Through its long avenues of terraced shade,
Whose stately founts and bowers for joy alone were made!
L.
In silence, and in arms! With helm—with sword—
These are no marriage garments! Yet e’en now
Thy nuptial feast should grace the regal board,
Thy Georgian bride should wreathe her lovely brow
With an imperial diadem![214]—but thou,
O fated prince! art call’d, and these with thee,
To darker scenes; and thou hast learn’d to bow