Thy story is writ in a gleam,
Thy magic like wine it is olden,
And hid in the web of a dream.
When the padre and poet had found thee,
Thy bells with a prophecy tolled,
For duty loved beauty, and round thee
The fabric of romance was rolled.
The vale with the snow-peak above her
Through ages in sunlight has lain,
Here art fondles nature, a lover