About the camp of twilight, and was soon

To marshal under the fair champion moon,

That called her chariot of unearthly mist,

Toward her citadel of amethyst.

A curse! a curse!—a lonely man is there

By the deep waters, with a burden fair

Clasped in his wearied arras.—’Tis he; ’tis he

The brain-struck Julio and Agathè!

His cowl is back—flung back upon the breeze,⁠—

His lofty brow is haggard with disease,