On a mountain’s lonesome glade,
’Neath a hut he sought repose—
Near where ’mid the lime-tree’s shade,
The convent pinnacles arose;
There, from morning’s dawn first bright’ning
Till the ev’ning stars began,
Secret hopes his anguish light’ning,
Sate the solitary man.
On the cloister fixed his eye,
Thro’ the hours’ weary round,