Allerheiligen

An abbey in a forest old,
A forest old of pine,
Slowly arose where hills enfold'
Not very far from Rhine :
And lower a stream that swept the walls
Fell into silver waterfalls ;
Seven slender falls in a gorge of grey,
Where the willowherb was wet with spray
The rock wore glossy grass like hair,
And a birch-tree shimmered in soft air ;
Nor yet stole sweetly over the cool
Wave, as it glided into a pool,
A vesper hymn
From the forest dim,
Nor bells from Allerheiligen !

Flew twenty summers ; the monks were there
In a cloistral solitude :
How few that heard the chaunted prayer
Divined the worldly feud
'Mong lives monotonous and pale,
Whom weariness would oft assail !
Yet holy-hearted, gentle men
Paced the echoing cloister then,
Learned, and kindly to the poor ;
Some sorely worn who sought to lure
Rest to a weary wounded heart ;
And where the mountain cleaves apart,
Such an one, ere the day's decline
Like an illumined vellum fine,
Mused oft upon the sombre green.
Beyond the fluttering watersheen.
Of piny hills, toward the sky
Receding with a softer dye.
And ever with an airier bloom.
Till they are fading to a fume :
Now at eve stole o'er the cool
Wave, as it glided into a pool,
A vesper hymn
From the forest dim,
And bells from Allerheiligen !

Seven hundred summers ; the monks are gone ;
Their abbey in the wood
Resigns in every mouldered stone
A human brotherhood !
Meekly disclaims, a ruin wild.
Being any more than Nature's child :
Taken from yore of mother Earth,
Loves dreaming o'er the time of birth :
In its old age the interval
Remembering little, hears a call
From ministers of earth and sky,
Wooing ever alluringly.
Yet in the sylvan raiment rare
That soothed a desolate despair.
The fading ruin seems to know
Memories that come and go ;
Memories that float and fly,
Like a flower's breath bewilderingly ;
Of when at eve stole o'er the cool
Wave, as it glided into a pool,
A vesper hymn
From the forest dim,
And bells from Allerheiligen !

Closes around an odorous shade
Of solemn pillared pines.
Breathing sea-murmurs, being swayed.
When musing one reclines.
Ivy and vine and roses vie
With old flamboyant tracery :
Lo ! the carven corbel where
Hangs a tiny garden fair ;
Birds have sown it as they pass
With fairy mosses and with grass :
A wild bee in a dim chapelle.
Hovering near a flowerbell.
With a drowsy murmur droning.
Imitates a priest intoning.
With his lowly eyes intent
Upon the Holy Sacrament !
Wild geranium and fir
Perfume the air, in place of myrrh,
Breathing from a thurifer :
Winds are jubilant, wail, complain,
Where many a blaze of jewel-pane
Heard the tempestuous anthem heave and wane !
Winds intone a wondrous hymn
In yonder aisles of forest dim ;
But a frail harebell
Is the only bell,
Hangs now in Allerheiligen !

There is a human savour still
Faintly lingering here.
Like a melody about a hill
In a shining summer air ;
A savour only, a flower scent
Of wildmg thyme concealed and blent
With mingling marjoram or mint —