Then murmuring hastened to the glen below.
Diana might have loved in that sweet spot
To take her noontide rest; and when she stoopt
Hot from the chase to drink, well pleased had seen
Her own bright crescent, and the brighter face
It crown’d, reflected there.
Beside that spring
Count Julian’s tent was pitch’d upon the glade;
There his ablutions Moor-like he perform’d,
And Moor-like knelt in prayer, bowing his head