“Not here unwelcome, tho’ unknown.
Enter and rest!” the Friar said.
The moon, that thro’ the portal shone,
Shone on his reverend head.
Thro’ many a court and gallery dim
Slowly he led, the burial-hymn
Swelling from the distant choir.
But now the holy men retire;
The arched cloisters issuing thro’
In long long order, two and two.
When other sounds had died away,
And the waves were heard alone,
They enter'd, tho’ unus'd to pray,
Where God was worshipp'd, night and day,
And the dead knelt round in stone;
They enter'd, and from aisle to aisle
Wander'd with folded arms awhile,
Where on his altar-tomb reclin'd
The crosier'd Abbot; and the Knight
In harness for the Christian fight,
His hands in supplication join'd;—
Then said as in a solemn mood,
“Now stand we where COLUMBUS stood!”
“PEREZ, thou good old man,” they cried,
“And art thou in thy place of rest?—
Tho’ in the western world His grave,
That other world, the gift He gave,
Would ye were sleeping side by side!
Of all his friends He lov'd thee best.”
The supper in the chamber done,
Much of a Southern Sea they spake,
And of that glorious City won
Near the setting of the Sun,
Thron'd in a silver lake;
Of seven kings in chains of gold —
And deeds of death by tongue untold,
Deeds such as breath'd in secret there
Had shaken the Confession-chair!