Of nimble frame and strong was Cloridane, Throughout his life a follower of the chase.
A cheek of white, suffused with crimson grain, Medoro had, in youth a pleasing grace.
Nor bound on that emprize, 'mid all the train, Was there a fairer or more jocund face.
Crisp hair he had of gold, and jet-black eyes:
And seemed an angel lighted from the skies.
