Hung their long tresses down. White lichens clothed
The sides, save where the ivy spread, which bower’d
The porch, and clustering round the pointed wall,
Wherein two bells, each open to the wind,
Hung side by side, threaded with hairy shoots
The double nich; and climbing to the cross,
Wreathed it and half conceal’d its sacred form
With bushy tufts luxuriant. Here in the font, ...
Borne hither with rejoicing and with prayers
Of all the happy land who saw in him