Was the blessed life; and the blissful plain,
By the fiend’s cunning, was fastened close
420 For many winters, till the Maker of wonders,
The King of mankind, Comforter of the weary,
Our only Hope, hither came down
To the godly band and again held it open.
VII
His advent is likened by learned writers
425 In their works of wisdom and words of truth,
To the flight of that fowl, when forth he goes