With its fiery tropic fervors, and its Etna-throes sublime!
Near her stood the fair Bianca,
Once a shepherd’s humble child,
Who with tender hand was twining
Through her tresses, raven-shining,
Pearls of lustre pure and mild;
And the lady in the mirror saw their braided gleam, and smiled.
Falling over brow and bosom,
Swept her dark and glossy hair;
And the flash on Etna faded,