Which Poverty might well behold,
With eyes, wide stretch’d, and greedy!
The dawn arose! The yellow light
Around the Alps spread chearing!
The Baron kiss’d the Goatherd’s child—
“Farewell!” she cried,—and blushing smil’d—
No future peril fearing.
Now Golfre homeward bent his way
His breast with passion burning:
The Chapel bell was rung, for pray’r,