XXI.

Bright-eyed Biscayan maids, as shapely tall As Atlas’ daughter in her sun-lit isle Led in the dance through flowery vale and knoll, Mother of streams while Tethys fair the while The chorus blest with an approving smile. The lively movements of the Vascon race, The Tartar glance, the ringing laugh where guile Ne’er enters, brown yet blooming charms of face, And teeth of dazzling lustre lend uncommon grace.