The sculptured saint that crown’d its door:
Less welcome now were monarch’s dome,
Than that low cell, some hermit’s home.
Thither the outcasts bent their way,
By the last lingering gleam of day;
When from a cavern’d rock, which cast
Deep shadows o’er them as they pass’d,
A form, a warrior form of might,
As from earth’s bosom, sprang to sight.
His port was lofty—yet the heart