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MID savage rocks, and seas of snow that shine, | |
| Between interminable tracts of pine, | |
| Within a temple stands an awful shrine, | |
| By an uncertain light revealed, that falls | |
| On the mute image and the troubled walls. | 5 |
| O, give not me that eye of hard disdain | |
| That views, undimmed, Einsiedeln’s wretched fane. | |
| While ghastly faces through the gloom appear, | |
| Abortive joy, and hope that works in fear; | |
| While prayer contends with silenced agony, | 10 |
| Surely in other thoughts contempt may die. | |
| If the sad grave of human ignorance bear | |
| One flower of hope, O, pass and leave it there! | |
| The tall sun, pausing on an Alpine spire, | |
| Flings o’er the wilderness a stream of fire: | 15 |
| Now meet we other pilgrims ere the day | |
| Close on the remnant of their weary way; | |
| While they are drawing toward the sacred floor | |
| Where, so they fondly think, the worm shall gnaw no more. | |
| How gayly murmur and how sweetly taste | 20 |
| The fountains reared for them amid the waste! | |
| Their thirst they slake; they wash their toil-worn feet, | |
| And some with tears of joy each other greet. | |
| Yes, I must see you when ye first behold | |
| Those holy turrets tipped with evening gold, | 25 |
| In that glad moment will for you a sigh | |
| Be heaved, of charitable sympathy; | |
| In that glad moment when your hands are prest | |
| In mute devotion on the thankful breast! | |
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