University of Virginia Library


99

VIII.

Now, if this cloister, fallen and gone,
Ye fain would view, as once it shone,
Pace ye, with reverend step, I pray,
The grass-grown and forgotten way,
While murmurs low the fitful wind,
Winning to peace the meeken'd mind;
And Evening, in her solemn stole,
With stillness o'er those woods afar,
Leads in blue shade her brightening star,
As spreads the slow gloom from the pole,
And these old towers their watch more awful keep,
(Where once the Curfew spoke with solemn rule)
And the faint hills and all the valley sleep
In misty grey beneath the “dewy cool.”
Yet, if a worldly heart ye wear,
These visioned-shades forbear—forbear!
To thee no dim-seen halls may gleam,
For thee no hallowed tapers beam
On the pale visage through the gloom
Bending in prayer by shrine, or tomb.
Turn thou thy wearied step away;
Go thou where dance and song are gay,

100

Or where the sun is flaming high,
And leave these scenes to Evening's sigh.