Far on its rocky knoll descried Saint Michael's chapel cuts the sky. I climbed;--beneath me, bright and wide, Lay the lone coast of Brittany.
Bright in the sunset, weird and still 5 It lay beside the Atlantic wave, As if the wizard Merlin's will Yet charmed it from his forest grave.
Behind me on their grassy sweep, Bearded with lichen, scrawled and grey, 10 The giant stones of Carnac sleep, In the mild evening of the May.
No priestly stern procession now Streams through their rows of pillars old; No victims bleed, no Druids bow; 15 Sheep make the furze-grown aisles their fold.
From bush to bush the cuckoo flies, The orchis red gleams everywhere; Gold broom with furze in blossom vies, The blue-bells perfume all the air. 20
And o'er the glistening, lonely land, Rise up, all round, the Christian spires. The church of Carnac, by the strand, Catches the westering sun's last fires.
And there across the watery way, 25 See, low above the tide at flood, The sickle-sweep of Quiberon bay Whose beach once ran with loyal blood!
And beyond that, the Atlantic wide!-- All round, no soul, no boat, no hail! 30 But, on the horizon's verge descried, Hangs, touched with light, one snowy sail!
Through Alpine meadows, soft-suffused With rain, where thick the crocus blows, Past the dark forges long disused, The mule-track from Saint Laurent goes. The bridge is crossed, and slow we ride, 5 Through forest, up the mountain-side.
The autumnal evening darkens round The wind is up, and drives the rain; While hark! far down, with strangled sound Doth the Dead Guiers' stream complain, 10 Where that wet smoke among the woods Over his boiling cauldron broods.
Swift rush the spectral vapours white Past limestone scars with ragged pines, Showing--then blotting from our sight. 15 Halt! through the cloud-drift something shines! High in the valley, wet and drear, The huts of Courrerie appear.
_Strike leftward!_ cries our guide; and higher Mounts up the stony forest-way. 20 At last the encircling trees retire; Look! through the showery twilight grey What pointed roofs are these advance? A palace of the Kings of France?
Approach, for what we seek is here. 25 Alight and sparely sup and wait For rest in this outbuilding near; Then cross the sward and reach that gate; Knock; pass the wicket! Thou art come To the Carthusians' world-famed home. 30