 | Clarel |  |
But up and down, from grot to shrine,
Along the gorge, hard by the brink
File the gowned monks in even line,
And never shrink!
With litany or dirge they wend
Where nature as in travail dwells;
And the worn grots and pensive dells
In wail for wail responses send—
Echoes in plaintive syllables.
Along the gorge, hard by the brink
File the gowned monks in even line,
And never shrink!
With litany or dirge they wend
Where nature as in travail dwells;
And the worn grots and pensive dells
In wail for wail responses send—
Echoes in plaintive syllables.
With mystic silvery brede divine,
Saint Basil's banner of Our Lord
(In lieu of crucifix adored
By Greeks which images decline)
Stained with the five small wounds and red,
Down through the darkling gulf is led—
By night ofttimes, while tapers glow
Small in the depths, as stars may show
Reflected far in well profound.
Saint Basil's banner of Our Lord
(In lieu of crucifix adored
By Greeks which images decline)
Stained with the five small wounds and red,
Down through the darkling gulf is led—
339
Small in the depths, as stars may show
Reflected far in well profound.
| Clarel | |