Unclasp me, Stranger; and unfold,
With trembling care, my leaves of gold
Rich in gothic portraiture —
If yet, alas, a leaf endure.
In RABIDA'S monastic fane
I cannot ask, and ask in vain.
The language of CASTILE I speak;
Mid many an Arab, many a Greek,
Old in the days of CHARLEMAIN;
When minstrel-music wander’ round,
And Science, waking, bless’ the sound.
No earthly thought has here a place;
The cowl let down on every face.
Yet here, in consecrated dust,
Here would I sleep, if sleep I must.
From GENOA when COLUMBUS came,
( At once her glory and her shame )
‘ Was here he caught the holy flame.
‘ Twas here the generous vow he made;
His banners on the altar laid.—
One hallow'd morn, methought,
I felt As if a soul within me dwelt!
But who arose and gave to me
The sacred trust I keep for thee,
And in his cell at even-tide
Knelt before the cross and died —
Inquire not now. His name no more
Glimmers on the chancel-floor,
Near the lights that ever shine
Before ST. MARY'S blessed shrine.
To me one little hour devote,
And lay thy staff and scrip beside thee;
Read in the temper that he wrote,
And may his gentle spirit guide thee!
My leaves forsake me, one by one;
The book-worm thro’ and thro’ has gone.
Oh haste — unclasp me, and unfold;
The tale within was never told!