“These are my gems,” as o’er each infant head
Superbly fond her high-born hands she spread;
This, with dark eyes, and hyacinthine flow
Of raven tresses down a neck of snow—
That, golden-haired, with orbs whose azurn hue
Had dimmed the Indian sapphire’s deathless blue.
“These are my gems! bring ye the rarest stone,
“That ever flashed from Eastern tyrants’ throne!
“Bring amber, such as those[[2]] sad sisters gave,
“Vain bribes to still the rash relentless wave!