9
And soon, I trust, his pious hands
Will join us both in one.
Thus they in sweet and tender talk
The lingering hours beguile;
At length they see the hoary sage
Come from the neighbouring isle.
With pious joy and wonder mix’d,
He greets the noble pair.
And glad consents to join their hands,
With many a fervent prayer.
Then straight to Raby’s distant walls,
He kindly wends his way;
Meantime in love and dalliance sweet,
They spend the livelong day.
And now, attended by their host,
The hermitage they view'd,
Deep hewn within a craggy cliff,
And overhung with wood.
And near a flight of shapeless steps,
All cut with nicest skill,
And piercing through a stony arch,
Ran winding up the hill.
There deck’d with many a flower and herb,
His little garden stands;
With fruitful trees in shady rows,
All planted by his hands.
Then scoop’d within the solid rock,
Three sacred vaults he shows;
The chief a chapel neatly arch’d,
On branching columns rose.
Each proper ornament was there,
That should a chapel grace;
The lattice for confession fram’d,
And holy water vase.
O’er either door a sacred text
Invites to godly fear;
And in a little ’scutchcon hung
The cross, the crown, and spear.
Up to the altar’s ample breadth
Two easy steps ascend;
And near a glimmering solemn light
Two well-wrought windows lend.
Beside the altar rose a tomb
All in the living stone;
