Downy gold were her locks, and her sparkling eyes
Like freezing stars in the ebon skies.
Such beauty, O Sage, all cold as thou art,
Would kindle warm raptures of love in thy heart.
Nigh to the nymph of golden hair
With courteous grace he drew—
“O hast thou seen, enchantress fair,
My hounds their game pursue?”[3]
NYMPH.
“Thy hounds I saw not in the chase,