For joy of one day's voyage more, We sang together on the wide sea, Like men at peace on a peaceful shore; Each sail was loosed to the wind so free, Each helm made sure by the twilight star, And in a sleep as calm as death, We, the voyagers from afar, Lay stretched along, each weary crew In a circle round its wondrous tent Whence gleamed soft light and curled rich scent, And with light and perfume, music too: So the stars wheeled round, and the darkness past, And at morn we started beside the mast, And still each ship was sailing fast. Now, one morn, land appeared--a speck Dim trembling betwixt sea and sky: "Avoid it," cried our pilot, "check The shout, restrain the eager eye!" But the heaving sea was black behind For many a night and many a day, And land, though but a rock, drew nigh; So, we broke the cedar pales away, Let the purple awning flap in the wind, And a statue bright was on every deck! We shouted, every man of us, And steered right into the harbor thus, With pomp and pæan glorious. A hundred shapes of lucid stone! All day we built its shrine for each, A shrine of rock for every one, Nor paused till in the westering sun We sat together on the beach To sing because our task was done. When lo! what shouts and merry songs! What laughter all the distance stirs! A loaded raft with happy throngs Of gentle islanders! "Our isles are just at hand," they cried, "Like cloudlets faint in even sleeping, Our temple-gates are opened wide, Our olive-groves thick shade are keeping For these majestic forms"--they cried. Oh, then we awoke with sudden start From our deep dream, and knew, too late, How bare the rock, how desolate, Which had received our precious freight: Yet we called out--"Depart! Our gifts, once given, must here abide. Our work is done; we have no heart To mar our work,"--we cried. _Fest._ In truth? _Par._ Nay, wait: all this in tracings faint On rugged stones strewn here and there, but piled In order once: then follows--mark what follows! "The sad rhyme of the men who proudly clung To their first fault, and withered in their pride." _Fest._ Come back then, Aureole; as you fear God, come! This is foul sin; come back! Renounce the past, Forswear the future; look for joy no more, But wait death's summons amid holy sights, And trust me for the event--peace, if not joy. Return with me to Einsiedeln, dear Aureole!