But though
he excelled all his competitors, in strength of body, and the
accomplishments of skill, yet was not his mind rough and boisterous.
Success had not taught him a despotic and untractable temper, applause
had not made him insolent and vain. He was gentle as the dove. He
listened with eager docility to the voice of hoary wisdom. He had always
a tear ready to drop over the simple narrative of pastoral distress.
Victor as he continually was in wrestling, in the race, and in the song,
the shout of triumph never escaped his lips, the exultation of insult he
was never heard to utter. On the contrary, with mild and unfictitious
friendship, he soothed the breast of disappointment, and cheered the
spirits of his adversary with honest praise.
But Edwin was not more distinguished among his brother shepherds, than
was Imogen among the fair. Her skin was clear and pellucid. The fall of
her shoulders was graceful beyond expression. Her eye-brows were arched,
and from her eyes shot forth the grateful rays of the rising sun. Her
waist was slender; and as she ran, she outstripped the winds, and her
footsteps were printless on the tender herb. Her mind, though soft, was
firm; and though yielding as wax to the precepts of wisdom, and the
persuasion of innocence, it was resolute and inflexible to the
blandishments of folly, and the sternness of despotism.
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