She, by degrees, pops out each twinkling star,
820And dims at length the mistress of the night—
As winter chapel-clerks, when prayers are done,
Dis-light each flazing wax or tallow sun.
So, when Bellama brightly did appear,
With morning rays in the monastic hall,
She veiled each face that movèd in that sphere,
And further, by degrees unfacèd all.
Nay, at the last, the mistress of the train
Looked like pale Phoebe in her dark'ned wain.