’Tis there these Christians lie. One way there is
Climbing by solid steps of native stone,
That comes up to the ground. Between those rocks
Thou seest the iron gate, and by the gate
The sentinel that keeps it. I would guide thee
To see thy countrymen; but there’s no need
To make the hard descent; for once a day,
At prayer and pity of our good princess,
’Tis granted them to come and walk above
In shadow of yon balmy cypress grove,