Frederica, 2

The Ganges roars; amid the foliage see
The sharp eyes of the antelope, who springs
Disdainfully along; their colour’d wings
The peacocks as they move, show haughtily.

Deep from the bosom of the sunny lea
Rises a newborn race of flowers, sweet things;
With yearning-madden’d voice Cocila sings--
Yes, thou art fair, no woman’s like to thee!

God Cama lurks in all thy features fair,
He dwells within thy bosom’s tents so white,
And breathes to thee the sweetest songs he knows.

Upon thy lips Vassant has made his lair,
I find within thine eyes new worlds of light,
In my own world no more I find repose.