Most nobly, ye have read:
Now to a nobler still attend,
A guardian of the dead.

As o'er wild Alpine scenes I stray'd,
Not far from that retreat,
Where Bruno, with celestial aid,
First plann'd his sacred seat.

An anchorite of noble mien,
Attracted my regard;
Majestic as that savage scene,
Or as a Cambrian bard.

He to no silent dome belongs,
The rock is his domain;
It echoes to his nightly songs
Devotion's lonely strain.

His mansion is a tranquil grot,
Form'd in the living stone:
My view of the sequester'd spot,
I owe to chance alone.

For happening near his cell to rove,
Enamour'd of the wild;
I heard within a piny grove
What seem'd a plaintive child.

The distant cry so struck my ear,