What! for a term so scant Our shining visitant Cheer'd us, and now is pass'd into the night? Couldst thou no better keep, O Abbey old, The boon thy dedication-sign foretold,[33] The presence of that gracious inmate, light?-- A child of light appear'd; Hither he came, late-born and long-desired, And to men's hearts this ancient place endear'd; What, is the happy glow so soon expired? --Rough was the winter eve; Their craft the fishers leave, And down over the Thames the darkness drew. One still lags last, and turns, and eyes the Pile Huge in the gloom, across in Thorney Isle, King Sebert's work, the wondrous Minster new. --'Tis Lambeth now, where then They moor'd their boats among the bulrush stems; And that new Minster in the matted fen The world-famed Abbey by the westering Thames. His mates are gone, and he For mist can scarcely see A strange wayfarer coming to his side-- Who bade him loose his boat, and fix his oar, And row him straightway to the further shore, And wait while he did there a space abide. The fisher awed obeys, That voice had note so clear of sweet command; Through pouring tide he pulls, and drizzling haze, And sets his freight ashore on Thorney strand. The Minster's outlined mass Rose dim from the morass, And thitherward the stranger took his way. Lo, on a sudden all the Pile is bright! Nave, choir and transept glorified with light, While tongues of fire on coign and carving play! And heavenly odours fair Come streaming with the floods of glory in, And carols float along the happy air, As if the reign of joy did now begin. Then all again is dark; And by the fisher's bark The unknown passenger returning stands. _O Saxon fisher! thou hast had with thee_ _The fisher from the Lake of Galilee--_ So saith he, blessing him with outspread hands; Then fades, but speaks the while: _At dawn thou to King Sebert shalt relate_ _How his St. Peter's Church in Thorney Isle_ _Peter, his friend, with light did consecrate._ Twelve hundred years and more Along the holy floor Pageants have pass'd, and tombs of mighty kings Efface the humbler graves of Sebert's line, And, as years sped, the minster-aisles divine Grew used to the approach of Glory's wings. Arts came, and arms, and law, And majesty, and sacred form and fear; Only that primal guest the fisher saw, Light, only light, was slow to reappear.