Page:The Forest Sanctuary.pdf/48

LXXVIII.

More hush'd, far more!—for there the wind sweeps by,
Or the woods tremble to the streams' loud play!
Here a strange echo made my very sigh
Seem for the place too much a sound of day!
Too much my footstep broke the moonlight, fading,
Yet arch through arch in one soft flow pervading;
And I stood still:—prayer, chant, had died away,
Yet past me floated a funereal breath

Of incense.—I stood still—as before God and death!

LXXIX.

For thick ye girt me round, ye long-departed^9[1]!
Dust—imaged form—with cross, and shield, and crest;
It seem'd as if your ashes would have started,
Had a wild voice burst forth above your rest!
Yet ne'er, perchance, did worshipper of yore
Bear to your thrilling presence what I bore
Of wrath—doubt—anguish—battling in the breast!
I could have pour'd out words, on that pale air,

To make your proud tombs ring:—no, no! I could not there!