[Enter LUIS. LUIS. Here my boat, my coffin, rather, On the billows I bestow. Who his sepulchre has ever Steered, as I, through fire and snow? What a pleasant spot is this! Here has Spring, methinks, invoked Flowers of high and low degree To assemble at her court. But this dismal mountain here, How unlike the plain below! Yet they are the better friends By the contrasts that they show. there the mournful birds of prey Hoarsely croak, presaging woe, Here the warblers in their joy Charm us with their tuneful notes. There the torrents leaping headlong Fright us with their frenzied roar, Here the crystal streamlets gliding Mirror back the sun's bright gold. Half way 'twixt that ugliness And this beauty, I behold A plain building whose grave front Fear and love at once provokes. FIRST CANON. Happy wanderer, who here Hast arrived with heart so bold, Come unto my arms. LUIS. The ground That you tread on suits me more. Oh, for charity conduct me To the Prior of your fold, To the Abbot of this convent. FIRST CANON. Though unworthy, you behold Him in me. Speak. What's your wish? LUIS. Father, if my name I told, I'm afraid that swiftly flying, With a terror uncontrolled, You would leave me: for my works Are so shocking to unfold, That to see them not, the sun Wraps him round in mourning robes. I am an abyss of crimes, A wild sea that has no shore; I am a broad map of guilt, And the greatest sinner known. Yes, in me, to tell it briefly In one comprehensive word (Here my breath doth almost fail me), Luis Enius behold! I come here this cave to enter, If for sins so manifold Aught can ever satisfy, Let my penance thus atone To the Bishop of Hibernia I've confessed, and am absolved, Who informed of my intention With a gracious love consoled All my fears, and unto thee Sent these letters I unfold. FIRST CANON. Do not in a single day Take, my son, a step so bold, For these things require precaution More than can at once be told. Stay here as our guest some days, Then at leisure we can both See about it and decide. LUIS. No, my father, no, oh, no! Never from the ground I'll rise, Where here prostrate I am thrown, Till you grant to me this good. It was God that touched my soul, And inspired me to come here; Not a vain desire to know, Not ambition to find out Secrets God, perchance, withholds. Do not baffle this intention, For the call is heaven's alone. Oh, my father! yield in pity, With me in my griefs condole, Give my sorrows consolation, Heal the anguish of my soul. FIRST CANON. Luis, you have not considered what you ask of me; you know Nothing of the infernal torments You must bear: to undergo These your strength is insufficient. Many are there, more the woe! Who go in, but few, alas! Who return.