Of figure he could naught descry,
Invisible it seemed to fly;
Alluring on with magic art
That half disclosing, hid in part.
Bright, beautiful, resistless Fate!
Oh! what is like thy magic will,
Which men in blind obedience wait,
Yet deem themselves unfettered still!
By thee impelled that hunter sped
Through shadowy wood, o’er flowery bed;