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When now the Father issued from the wood Into that little glade in open sight, Like one entranced, beholding him, she stood; Yet had she more of wonder than affright, Yet less of wonder than of dread delight, When thus the actual vision came in view; For instantly the maiden read aright Wherefore he came; his garb and beard she knew; All that her mother heard had then indeed been true.

Nor was the Father filled with less surprize; He too strange fancies well might entertain, When this so fair a creature met his eyes. He might have thought her not of mortal strain; Rather, as bards of yore were wont to feign, A nymph divine of Mondai's secret stream; Or haply of Diana's woodland train: For in her beauty Mooma such might seem, Being less a child of earth than like a poet's dream.