But faith alike and reason bade her shun
That wish, nor break a thread which God had spun.
Hark!—was it fancy?—hark again!—the shores
Echo the sound of fast approaching oars.
Oh! how she gazed!—a barge (by friars ’twas mann’d)
Cut the smooth waves, and sought the rocky strand.
Soon (while his wither’d hands a crosier hold,
All rich with gems, and rough with sculptured gold),
Landing alone, a reverend monk appear’d:—
His jewell’d cross—his flowing silver beard—