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| WHEN pilgrim thoughts retrace their way | |
| Where the lone warder, Memory, waits, | |
| Again as in a bygone day, | |
| I stand by Antwerp’s ancient gates. | |
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| The selfsame scene my vision greets, | 5 |
| The ivied towers, the blackened walls; | |
| And o’er the long and winding streets | |
| The sunset’s golden glory falls. | |
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| I pause where Rubens silent stands, | |
| Amid the city’s busy mart, | 10 |
| With soul-lit brow, and folded hands, | |
| Of Antwerp’s noblest fame a part. | |
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| I meet again each Flemish face, | |
| Which well might be the painter’s theme; | |
| Nor softer eyes nor purer grace | 15 |
| Could haunt the poet’s raptured dream. | |
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| I seek the haunts old painters sought, | |
| Where Teniers wooed divinest art; | |
| The spot where Quintin Matsys wrought | |
| For Love and Fame with giant heart. | 20 |
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| The summer’s brightest sunbeams gleam | |
| O’er hoary towers from smiling skies, | |
| And o’er the Scheldt’s delicious stream | |
| A golden path of ripples lies. | |
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| Then as those gleams of beauty fade | 25 |
| And soften into twilight time, | |
| Slow stealing through the gathering shade, | |
| I hear the bells of vesper chime. | |
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| Down from the old cathedral tower | |
| Their notes of dream-like music fall, | 30 |
| The holiest voices of the hour, | |
| And welcomed like an angel’s call. | |
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| I mingle with the crowd once more, | |
| As in that vesper hour gone by; | |
| And following through the arched door, | 35 |
| I pause amid them silently. | |
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| Through fretted arches high and dim, | |
| I hear the organ’s mighty swells, | |
| The chorus of the chanted hymn, | |
| And over all, the chiming bells. | 40 |
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| The white-robed priests, the murmured prayer, | |
| The wreathing incense o’er the crowd, | |
| The shadowy forms of sculpture rare, | |
| The groups in silent worship bowed. | |
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| The pictures shining through the shades, | 45 |
| Touched by the sunset’s fading glow, | |
| The misty light through long arcades, | |
| The checkered marble just below. | |
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| These touch me with a dreamy spell, | |
| As ’neath a seraph’s wing I bow; | 50 |
| These lips of mine can never tell | |
| The silent awe that thrills me now. | |
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| The vision fades, the ancient towers | |
| In evening shadows fade away, | |
| Again as in the bygone hours, | 55 |
| I turn upon my pilgrim way. | |
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| O Antwerp! for that hour’s dear sake | |
| I keep thy golden memories yet; | |
| This heart of mine must chill or break, | |
| Ere I thy loveliness forget. | 60 |
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