82
Spoke of unearthly things, and of a soul
Already mingled with its native skies:
She knelt on the cold rock, while the rude waves
Dash'd o'er her slender form their foam; around
Was a drear solitude, where the dark cliffs
Frown'd o'er the sea; and the black shadowy clouds,
Gathering their sullen masses, seem'd to be
The tempests' dwelling place. Yet that young saint
Pray'd fearlessly; she felt, the guardian hand,
So late stretch'd forth to save in peril's hour,
Would not desert her now.
