Amidst the grove that crowns yon tufted hill,

Which, were it not for many a mountain nigh

Rising in lofty ranks, and loftier still,

Might well itself be deemed of dignity,

The Convent's white walls glisten fair on high:

Here dwells the caloyer, nor rude is he, [21.B.]

Nor niggard of his cheer;[150] the passer by

Is welcome still; nor heedless will he flee

From hence, if he delight kind Nature's sheen to see.