To a young convert.Lulled by sweet words and lured by saintly charms,
I see thy weary, wandering steps begin
To enter where the Church spreads wide her arms,
Arms that have clasped their many thousands in.
From turret-windows and from high-arched door
Looks many a face of saint and martyr dear:
“Hail, Eve's lost daughter,1 wanderer now no more!
Earth's chill damp air shall never reach thee here!
“Here Dante, Bayard, Catherine knelt in prayer;
Come in! their great remembrance makes us strong.”
Oh, enter not! for peril haunts the air
Which even the loveliest lips have breathed too long.