For naught so pleases him as to annoy
“Those powers of hell, and mar their fiendish joy.”
Soon was that good and holy hermit found,
In his lone habitation far away,
And help implored. Said he, “Sir Knight, if sound,
True, pure, and perfect, be thy love, the way
To free the maid from magic’s direful sway
Is short and certain, but will try thy might
Of heart and arm. Beneath where she doth lay,
Through that hard rock, for full five fathoms straight,