Or on his knees, supported by the wall,
Draped in his mantle, till the white dawn gleams,
He lieth, moveless as a marble form,
And unsubdued by sleep the whole night long.
Oft at the soft voice of the fair recluse
He rises, and returns her low replies.
No ear their import can discern afar;
But from the lustre of the shaking helm,
View of the lifted head, unquiet hands,
’Tis seen some discourse pends of weighty things.