Drest

No arboret with painted blossomes drest, / And smelling sweet, but there it might be found […]

[…] the frightened maid starts from the mossy bank or verdant turf, the pale livery of death succeeds the red regimentals in which Love had before drest her cheeks, fear shakes her whole frame, and her lover scarce supports her trembling tottering limbs.

Rather, it is transmitted by him, for it came originally, so we learn, from a young boy of a French lieutenant, home on leave, and smiling with dreamy happiness over a café-table at the endless procession of clean, neatly drest Parisiens and Parisiennes passing by on the other side.