And if sharp frosts did, in her absence, steal
Into this place, and glaz'd the tattling streams,
Then into crystal would the springs congeal,
1020And ev'ry flower was rayed with silver beams.
Yet if Bellama did but glance her eye,
The crystal and the silver thence did fly.
Nay, strange it was to hear the purling wet,
The saucy frost with angry murmurs chide,
And with its constant jars and strugglings fret,
Then thaw to tears, and on the Venice slide.