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.