22
MOYARRA
To tint thy page with hues of heaven!
Ah! no! for thee reserved alone
Thy fire, and unapproached thy throne;
Thus Nature vows thy rights to guard,
Her earliest—her Grecian bard.
IX.
In frequent bands, the tribe, returning,
Bore home the produce of their toil,
And o'er their watch-fires brightly burning
Prepared for food the welcome spoil:
Then, gathering to the wild repast
The joke and mirthful taunt flew fast;
Not there the courtly, wreathed smile"7
With eye that dubious gleams the while,
And features tutored to beguile,
The mirth that nature felt, restrained:
Flashed many a dark and glittering eye,
Dusk faces were dissolved in joy.
And yielding to its subtlety
Wantoned in gladness unrestrained.
