But fair the prospect from the Mount when bright
The sunshine falls on Avranches far away,
A white town straggling o'er a verdant hill;
And on the tree-clad country toward the west,
On apple orchards, and the fairy bloom
Of feath'ry tam'risk bushes on the shore;
Whilst high above in silent majesty
Of hue and form the floating clouds support
The far-extending vault of azure sky
Such was the shrine the lady sought, and there
In mute appeal for what she lack'd she knelt,
Not knowing what she lack'd; but finding peace
Steal o'er her soul there as she faintly heard
The slow and solemn chanting of the priests,
The mild monotony of murmured prayers,
And hush of pauses when she seemed to feel
The heart she deem'd so hard was melting fast,
And listen'd to a voice within her say--
"Love is not vain! Love all things and rejoice!"
And found warm tears were stealing down her cheeks.
The mystery of love, of love, of love,
Of hope, of joy, of life itself, she felt;
The crown of life, which she had sacrificed
In scornful pride for lust of power and place.
Pages:
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107