LXXVII.

Juan had on a shawl of black and gold, But a white baracan, and so transparent The sparkling gems beneath you might behold, Like small stars through the milky way apparent; His turban, furled in many a graceful fold, An emerald aigrette, with Haidée's hair in 't, Surmounted as its clasp--a glowing crescent, Whose rays shone ever trembling, but incessant.