In one hand he bore a crystal goblet full of every
potent enchantment, and which rendered him who drank for ever a slave to
the most menial offices and the most wanton caprices of his seducer. In
the other hand he held loosely, and as if it had been intended merely to
give a completeness to his figure and a gracefulness to his step, that
irresistible wand by which the majesty of man had often been degraded,
and the reluctant spirit had been conjured up from the caverns of the
abyss. The goblet he delivered to the elder nymph, who presented it,
with inimitable grace and a bewitching condescension, to the gallant
shepherd.
Edwin had the fortitude of a hero, but he had also the feelings of a
man. He could not but be struck with the beauty of the nymphs, he could
not but be surprised with the profuseness of the entertainment, and the
richness of the preparations. The soul of Edwin was full of harmony. It
had been one of his earliest and most ruling passions. No shepherd
excelled him in the skill of the pipe, no shepherd with a sweeter or
more sonorous voice could carol the rustic lay. Even the figure assumed
by Roderic, his garb, his step, his gesture had something in them of
angelic and celestial without the blaze of divinity, and without the
awfulness that surrounds the godlike existencies, that sometimes
condescend to visit this sublunary scene.
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