Advancing from the hazel shade.
The maid, alarm’d, with hasty oar,
Push’d her light shallop[49] from the shore,
And when a space was gain’d between,
Closer she drew her bosom’s screen;
(So forth the startled swan would swing,
So turn to prune[50] his ruffled wing.)
Then safe, though flutter’d and amazed,
She paused, and on the stranger gazed.
Not his the form, nor his the eye,