Brave girl, through vale and city!
Spare, of its listless moments, one
To this, thy poet’s ditty;
Nor long forbear, when all is done,
Thine own sweet self to pity.
The priestess of the Sestian tower,
Whose knight the sea swam over,
Among her votaries’ gifts no flower
Of heart’s-ease could discover:
She died, but in no evil hour,