To tenderest love doth Nial oft behold
Sweet Isabel, not formally to woo,
But drink unconsciously a bliss untold
From presence that his destiny doth mould!
Her figure light and graceful as gazelle,
Her eyes’ majestic orbs like starlight rolled,
Her nature gentle yet with witching spell
Of buoyant life, upon his kindred bosom fell.
XXIX.
And felt the maiden boundless gratitude