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[24] Cliffs wrapped in snows of years,
     Splintering with icy spears
Autumn's blue heaven:
     Loose rock and frozen slide,
Hung on the mountain-side,
     Waiting their hour to glide
Downward, storm-driven!

Rhine-stream, by castle old,
     Baron's and robber's hold,
Peacefully flowing;
     Sweeping through vineyards green,
Or where the cliffs are seen
     O'er the broad wave between
Grim shadows throwing.

Or, where St. Peter's dome
     Swells o'er eternal Rome.
Vast, dim, and solemn;
     Hymns ever chanting low,
Censers swung to and fro,
     Sable stoles sweeping slow
Cornice and column!

Oh, as from each and all
     Will there not voices call
Evermore back again?
     In the mind's gallery
Wilt thou not always see
     Dim phantoms beckon thee
O'er that old track again?

New forms thy presence haunt,
     New voices softly chant,

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