Strides into heaven behind the purple peak.
Oh beautiful ! In the clear, rayless air,
I see the chequered vale mapped far below,
The sky-paved streams, the velvet pasture Hslopes,
The grim, gray cloister whose deep vesper bell
Blends at this height with tinkling, homebound herds !
I see — but oh, how far ! — the blessed town
Where Liebhaid dwells. Oh that I were yon star
That pricks the West's unbroken foil of gold,
Bright as an eye, only to gaze on her !
How keen it sparkles o'er the Yenusburg !
When brown night falls and mists begin to live,
Then will the phantom hunting-train emerge.
Hounds straining, black fire - eyeballed, breathless steeds.
Spurred by wild huntsmen, and unhallowed nymphs.
And at their head the foam-begotten witch.
Of soul-destroying beauty. Saints of heaven !
Preserve mine eyes from such unholy sight !
How all unlike the base desire which leads
Misguided men to that infernal cave.
Is the pure passion that exalts my soul
Like a religion ! Yet Christ pardon me,
If this be sin to thee !
Good even, father !
