To Askur’s mortal race,
Death-doomed! though less in size,
Alas! not fatal less.
Fair sight their forms to view
Basking in new-donn’d sheen,
To their’s the violet’s blue
Must yield, or emerald’s green:
They know, by wizard gaze,
Coil’d ’neath some leafy bower,
Their prey with fear to glaze,