Page:The Venetian Bracelet.pdf/80

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The night—the morn—he watch'd in vain, No starry lyre rose from the main. —And who were they the lovely seven, With shape of earth, and home in heaven? Daughters of King Atlas they— He of the enchanted sway; He who read the mystic lines Of the planets' wondrous signs; He the sovereign of the air— They were his, these daughters fair. Six were brides, in sky and sea, To some crown'd divinity; But his youngest, loveliest one, Was as yet unwoo'd, unwon. She's kneeling at her father's side:— What the boon could be denied