THE QUEEN OP BEAUTY AND OF LOVE. 
91 
That he who sank upon thy breast 
Would never seek another rest. 
Descend as when on Ida’s hill 
Thou there didst win the golden prize, 
And beardless Paris felt a thrill 
Go through him from thy azure eyes, 
Down-glancing like the morning skies, 
When all the world in sleep reposes, 
Saving Aurora, who doth rise, 
And to the wondering stars discloses 
The couch that’s curtained round with roses. 
Goddess of Love ! it is to thee 
All earthly happiness we owe, 
All bliss that mortals here can see, 
Who at the shrine of beauty bow. 
Thou askest but a woman’s vow,— 
That we shall love until life ends : 
Upon our lips we swear it now— 
And by each kiss that here descends, 
May Hate seize him who but pretends. 
