Among the brushwood, by the stroke
Of a fierce tempest from the north.
How fair he seemed, though bathed in blood !
And leaning over him now stood,
Maria, as once Dian fair
Descending from her heavenly sphere,
On Latmos, from the chase withdrawn,
Stood over her Endymion.
The sleeper that enchanted her
Than this could not be lovelier.
Within his pierced and mangled breast
A spark of life yet feebly glows,
And straight her followers frame in haste
A litter of the greenwood boughs ;
And placing him thereon with care,
They bear him to her dwelling near.
The maiden sat beside his bed,
With pity filled and anxious dread,
And on those features pale she cast