And gave thy heart-blood leave to flow,
In thrilling awe the prayer to hear,
Through the clos’d curtain murmur’d low.
The prayer of him whose holy tongue
Had never yet exceeded truth;
Upon whose guardian care had hung
The whole dependance of thy youth.
Who noble, dauntless, frank, and mild,
Was for his very goodness fear’d;
Beloved with fondness like a child,