Within yon chapel grey
That from its frowning crag looks o’er
The torrent’s restless spray.
“‘But lonely, lonely is the way,
And thou may’st meet him there;
And if he fall unshrived and foul,
In vain were tear and prayer.
“‘Speed then thy task, my trusty slave,
For though fiends around us lurk,
The soul that turns from good to ill