--While thus I mused, night gently ran Down over hill and wood. Then, still and sudden, Obermann On the grass near me stood. Those pensive features well I knew,-- On my mind, years before, Imaged so oft, imaged so true! --A shepherd’s garb he wore; A mountain flower was in his hand, A book was in his breast. Bent on my face, with gaze which scanned My soul, his eyes did rest. “And is it thou,” he cried, “so long Held by the world which we Loved not, who turnest from the throng Back to thy youth and me? “And from thy world, with heart opprest, Choosest thou _now_ to turn? Ah me! we anchorites read things best, Clearest their course discern! “Thou fled’st me when the ungenial earth, Man’s work-place, lay in gloom: Return’st thou in her hour of birth, Of hopes and hearts in bloom? “Perceiv’st thou not the change of day? Ah! Carry back thy ken, What, some two thousand years! Survey The world as it was then. “Like ours it looked in outward air. Its head was clear and true, Sumptuous its clothing, rich its fare, No pause its action knew; “Stout was its arm, each thew and bone Seemed puissant and alive: But, ah! its heart, its heart was stone, And so it could not thrive! “On that hard Pagan world, disgust And secret loathing fell; Deep weariness and sated lust Made human life a hell. “In his cool hall, with haggard eyes, The Roman noble lay; He drove abroad, in furious guise, Along the Appian Way. “He made a feast, drank fierce and fast, And crowned his hair with flowers; No easier nor no quicker passed The impracticable hours. “The brooding East with awe beheld Her impious younger world. The Roman tempest swelled and swelled, And on her head was hurled. “The East bowed low before the blast In patient, deep disdain; She let the legions thunder past, And plunged in thought again. “So well she mused, a morning broke Across her spirit gray; A conquering, new-born joy awoke, And filled her life with day. “‘Poor world!’ she cried, ‘so deep accurst, That runn’st from pole to pole To seek a draught to slake thy thirst.-- Go, seek it in thy soul!’ “She heard it, the victorious West, In crown and sword arrayed; She felt the void which mined her breast, She shivered and obeyed. “She vailed her eagles, snapped her sword, And laid her sceptre down; Her stately purple she abhorred, And her imperial crown. “She broke her flutes, she stopped her sports, Her artists could not please. She tore her books, she shut her courts, She fled her palaces. “Lust of the eye, and pride of life, She left it all behind, And hurried, torn with inward strife, The wilderness to find.