He heard the stealthy feet of things
Whose shapes he could not see,
A flutter as of evil wings,
The fall of a dead tree.
The pines stood black against the moon,
A sword of fire beyond;
He heard the wolf howl, and the loon
Laugh from his reedy pond.
He turned him back; "O master dear,
We are but men misled;
And thou hast sought a city here
To find a grave instead."
"As God shall will! what matters where
A true man's cross may stand,
So Heaven be o'er it here as there
In pleasant Norman land?
"These woods, perchance, no secret hide
Of lordly tower and hall;
Yon river in its wanderings wide
Has washed no city wall;
"Yet mirrored in the sullen stream
The holy stars are given:
Is Norembega, then, a dream
Whose waking is in Heaven?
"No builded wonder of these lands
My weary eyes shall see;
A city never made with hands
Alone awaiteth me—
"'Urbs Syon mystica;' I see
Its mansions passing fair,
'Condita cœlo;' let me be,
Dear Lord, a dweller there!"
Above the dying exile hung
The vision of the bard,
As faltered on his failing tongue
The song of [good Bernard].
The henchman dug at dawn a grave
Beneath the hemlocks brown,
And to the desert's keeping gave
The lord of fief and town.