So soon a great procession was decreed
Of priests and laymen; marching in the van
Went one who bore the recompense agreed.
They came where dwelt the venerated man—
And found an open door, an empty house;
They called his name, and naught but echoes ran.
The drums and cymbals all the neighbors rouse
And trumpets shrill their joy; but none appears
To see the grateful people pay their vows.
He is not there, the grave assemblage hears;
A neighbor, waking early, like a ghost
Saw him steal forth, a prey to nameless fears.
From room to room they went—their pains were lost;
In all the desolate chambers there was none
That answered them, or came to play the host.
They called aloud, let in the cheerful sun
Through opened windows—in their anxious round
Into the workshop entrance last they won * * *,
Ah, speak not of the horror there they found!
III
They have brought a captive home, and raging told
That he is stained with foulest blasphemy,
Mocks their false prophet with his insults bold.
It is the pilgrim we were used to see
For penance roaming 'neath our palm-trees' shade,
Till at the Holy Grave he might be free.