I will go down and see who tenant there,
And meet old friends. "First, wanderer, look around
And see what friends of thine are underground!"
II
The mountains gather round thee as of yore,
O holy lake, across whose tranquil breast
Was borne the saint who to the farthest west
Brought the sweet knowledge that transcends all lore.
There on the islet at the chapel door
The penitents are kneeling, while along