Thy father's joy art thou, thy mother's boast;
Upon the dusty track by pilgrims trod
Laugheth the cripple; and the warlike host
Divides before thee, giving thanks to God.
The merchants praise thee, and the wandering guest—
“Her veil down streams with such a humble pride,
Fairer is that alone than all the West
Irreverent boasts of charms that scorn to hide!”
V.
“Is thy love fairer than each other maiden?”