III.

I

ENTER, and I see thee in the gloom.

Of the long aisles, O poet saturnine!

And strive to make my steps keep pace with

thine.

The air is filled with some unknown perfume;

The congregation of the dead make room

For thee to pass; the votive tapers shine;
Like rooks that haunt Ravenna's groves of

pine

The hovering echoes fly from tomb to tomb.

From the confessionals I hear arise

Rehearsals of forgotten tragedies,

And lamentations from the crypts below; And then a voice celestial, that begins

With the pathetic words, "Although your sins

As scarlet be," and ends with "as the snow."

IV.

I

LIFT mine eyes, and all the windows blaze

With forms of saints and holy men who died,
Here martyred and hereafter glorified;

And the great Rose upon its leaves displays Christ's Triumph, and the angelic roundelays,

With splendor upon splendor multiplied;

And then the organ sounds, and unseen choirs

Sing the old Latin hymns of peace and love,

And benedictions of the Holy Ghost;

And the melodious bells among the spires.

O'er all the house-tops and through heaven

above

Proclaim the elevation of the Host!