Juan had on a shawl of black and gold,

But a white baracan, and so transparent

The sparkling gems beneath you might behold,

Like small stars through the milky way apparent;

His turban, furled in many a graceful fold,

An emerald aigrette, with Haidée's hair in't,

Surmounted as its clasp—a glowing crescent,

Whose rays shone ever trembling, but incessant.