Till reeling, powerless with the spell,
She lost her fragile hold and fell.
The fowler saw his lovely spoil
Entangled in the dazzling toil,
A few frail threads of woven gauze,
But deadly as the lion's jaws.
Not till her golden wings were shorn,
The timid bird escaped forlorn—
To soar with flocks of grosser mould,
An alien from the heavenly fold,