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The princess Isabel's chief confidante:— Dost thou, Carlotti, know her?

Lives there a man in Naples, be he high Or low in his estate, who has not pressed, 'Mid whelming crowds on days of festival, To gaze upon her wondrous loveliness? She seems a being of another sphere; Form'd in the skies of those bright dazzling clouds That hang mid-way in air on summer days, Fleecy, and soft, and white, as plumage dropped Fresh from the snowy breasts of those fair doves, Which drew the car of Venus. The rich tint Of warm celestial red that bathes the arch, Morning and eve, of pure unclouded heaven, Blooms on her cheek, and dyes her ruby lip. Her eyes, the colour of the firmament, When in its darkest deepest blue, but far, Far brighter than its stars. Her glittering locks Are threads of gold, stolen from the radii