I tread the moonlit <g>abbey</g>! Oh, my soul, How nobly art thou struggling to be free, Spurning the temple’s, and the world’s control, And feeling most inadequate to thee The loftiest dome, the grandest scenery; O’er views that would oppress thee or appal, Rising, like light bark o’er the mounting sea; And where, if weak or mortal thou wouldst fall, Expanding to survey and compass more than all! <g>Palace of Piety</g>! Devotion here Should wear a crownèd angel’s robe of white, And antedate the ardours of a sphere, Where all is tranquil as this noon of night! The moon--the regal moon--intensely bright, Shines through the roseate window of the west; Each shaft, an artificial stalactite Of pendent stone, with slumber seems oppressed, Or with a charmèd dream of peaceful rapture blessed. And through thy lofty arch, a single star Is gazing from a depth of spotless blue, As if to learn how soft thy splendours are, And feel them deeply, as I fain would do! While now supine upon thy pave of dew I let thy loveliness my soul pervade, And pass with unimpeded influence through Its quiet depths, like moonlight through thy shade, To haunt with beauty still that shrine of hopes decayed. Forgive me, <g>abbey</g> of the watered vale-- Forgive that, when I feel my spirit swell With an unwonted energy, I fail To hymn thy desolated glories well! Not yet the chrysalis has burst its shell-- Not yet expanded its immortal wings; The restless rudiments of vast powers tell The soul a deathless thing; from earth she springs, But fast and feebly falls, the while of thee she sings. _J. C. Earle, St. Edmund’s Hall, Oxford._ <g>Tinterne Vesper-Hymn.</g> Like crimson on the dimpled Wye Sleeps the glowing summer sky; O’er the landscape, widely thrown, Belted rock, and mountain cone; Hamlet, tower, and haunted stream, Are basking in the vesper-beam; And holy <g>friars</g>, robed in white, Cross them in the waning light--AVE MARIA! Now, along the abbey walls, Soft the purple _gloaming_ falls; Aloft, on every turret’s height, In the dim and doubtful light, Here retiring, there advancing, Weeds are waving, wings are glancing, And yon effigies of stone Seem to hail the vesper-tone--AVE MARIA! Deeper yet, and deeper still, From winding stream, and wooded hill, Shadowy cliff and rippling _weir_, Nature’s music fills the ear; Notes of mingling praise and prayer Float along the solemn air, Where, from cloistered arches dim, Swells the everlasting hymn--AVE MARIA!