Say, who is he in deserts seen,

Or at the twilight hour?

Of garb austere, and dauntless mien,

Measured in speech, in purpose keen,

Calm as in Heaven he had been,

Yet blithe when perils lower.

My Holy Mother made reply,

'Dear child, it is my Priest.

The world has cast me forth, and I

Dwell with wild earth and gusty sky;

He bears to men my mandates high,

And works my sage behest.

'Another day, dear child, and thou

Shalt join his sacred band.

Ah! well I deem, thou shrinkest now

From urgent rule and severing vow;

Gay hopes flit round, and light thy brow:

Time hath a taming hand!'