There, on the basis of an ancient pile,
Whose cross surmounted spire o'erlook'd the wood,
A venerable MATRON they ere-while
Discover'd have, beside a murm'ring flood
Reclining in right sad and pensive mood.
Retir'd within her own abstracted breast
She seem'd o'er various woes by turns to brood;
The which her changing chear by turns exprest,
Now glowing with disdain, with grief now over-kest.