My Fates Had Destined Me To Rove A Long, Long Pilgrimage Of Love; And Many An Altar On My Way Has Lured My Pious Steps To Stay; For If The Saint Was Young And Fair, I Turned, And Sung My Vespers There. This, From A Youthful Pilgrim'S Fire, Is What Your Pretty Saints Require: To Pass, Nor Tell A Single Bead, With Them Would Be Profane Indeed! But, Trust Me, All This Young Devotion Was But To Keep My Zeal In Motion; And, Every Humbler Altar Past, I Now Have Reached The Shrine At Last!