Chapter XI

Round her would hop unscared the sinless bird,
And court the lustre of her gentle glance,
Hushing each wood-note wild whene'er it heard
Her song of joy:--her countenance
Inspired beholders with a thought that chance
Had borne her hither from some better land:--
To deck her tresses for the festive dance
Girls of the tribe would bring, with liberal hand,
Blossoms and rose-lipped shells from bower and reedy strand.