CXV.

Egeria! sweet creation of some heart[27.H.] Which found no mortal resting-place so fair As thine ideal breast; whate'er thou art Or wert,--a young Aurora of the air, The nympholepsy[494] of some fond despair--[ol] Or--it might be--a Beauty of the earth, Who found a more than common Votary there Too much adoring--whatsoe'er thy birth, Thou wert a beautiful Thought, and softly bodied forth.