Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 2.djvu/98

64 Though not to one dome circumscribeth She

Her worship, but, devoted to her rite,

A thousand Altars rise, for ever blazing bright.

LXVII.

From morn till night, from night till startled Morn

Peeps blushing on the Revel's laughing crew,

The Song is heard, the rosy Garland worn;

Devices quaint, and Frolics ever new.

Tread on each other's kibes. A long adieu

He bids to sober joy that here sojourns:

Nought interrupts the riot, though in lieu

Of true devotion monkish incense burns,

And Love and Prayer unite, or rule the hour by turns.