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They moved about in open sight,To and fro, for his delight.He knew the Rocks which Angels hauntOn the Mountains visitant;He hath kenn'd them taking wing:And the Caves where Faeries singHe hath entered; and been toldBy Voices how Men liv'd of old.Among the Heavens his eye can seeFace of thing that is to be;And, if Men report him right,Ile can whisper words of might.—Now another day is come,Fitter hope, and nobler doom:He hath thrown aside his Crook,And hath buried deep his Book;Armour rusting in his Halls.On the blood of Clifford calls;—
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