‘Twas heard, and instant every imp was fled.
What was that sound? What pitying saint from high
Had stooped to save her? Now to heaven her eye
Grateful she raised. Almighty powers!—a form,
Gigantic as the palm, black as the storm,
All shagged with hair, wild, strange in shape and show,
Towered on the loftiest cliff, and gazed below.
On her he gazed, and gazed so fixed, so hard,
Like knights of bronze some hero’s tomb who guard.
Bright wreaths of scarlet plumes his temples crowned,