was fair; from roof to floor
    With golden imageries pictur’d o’er;
    There Venus might be seen, in act to throw
    Down to the mimick fire that gleam’d below
    The ‘Remedies of Love’ Dan Ovid made;
    Wrathful the goddess look’d, and ill-repaid;
    And many more than I may well recall,
    Illumining throughout the sumptuous wall. 
      For the old ghostly guide—­to do him right—­
    He harbour’d in his breast no jailor’s spite;
    Compassionate and poor, he bore in mind
    His prisoner’s health might languish, much confin’d
    And oft would let her feet and fancy free,
    Wander along the margin of the sea. 
      There then it chanc’d, upon the level sand,
    That aunt and niece were pacing hand in hand,
    When onward to the marble tower they spied
    With outspread sail the fairy vessel glide: 
    Both felt a momentary fear at first,
    (As women oft are given to think the worst)
    And turn’d for flight; but ere they far were fled,
    Look’d round to view the object of their dread;
    Then, seeing none on board, they backward hied,
    Perchance by fairy influence fortified,
    Where the trim bark was run its course to end,
    And now both dames its ebon deck ascend;
    There on a couch, a silken pall beneath,
    So wrapt in sleep he scarcely seem’d to breathe,
    Sir Gugemer they spied, defil’d with gore,
    And with a deadly pale his visage o’er: 
    They fear them life was fled; and much his youth,
    And much his hap forlorn did move their ruth: 
    With lily hand his heart Nogiva press’d,
    “It beats!” she cried, “beats strong within his breast!”
      So loud her sudden voice express’d delight,
    That from his swoon awoke the wondering knight: 
    His name, his country, straight the dames demand,
    And what strange craft had steer’d his bark to land? 
    He, on his elbow rais’d, with utterance weak,
    Such as his feeble strength avail’d to speak,
    Recounts his piteous chance, his name, his home,
    How up the vessel’s side ere while he clomb,
    And then sunk down in sleep; but who impell’d
    Its ebon keel, or tissued canvas swell’d,
    He wist not:  faint, and lacking vital heat,
    He sought some needful aid from looks so sweet. 
      “So brave a knight!—­to yield of succour nought—­
    What heart of flint could cherish such a thought? 
    Yet where to harbour him, and how to hide?—­
    The husband not at home, means must be tried!”—­
    So thought these dames, I ween, that fateful hour,
    While feebly onward to the marble tower,
    Propp’d, right and left, by snowy shoulders twain,
    Sir Gugemer repair’d with mickle pain. 
    There on a bed of down they plac’d their guest,
    Cleans’d the deep wound, with healing balsam dress’d,
    Brought, for his plight most