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Lea & Planchard. Philadelphia, 1843

The moon, that thro' the portal shone,
Shone on his reverend head.

Thro many a court and gallery dim

Slowly he led, the burial-hymn
Swelling from the distant choir.
But now the holy men retire;
The arched cloisters issuing thro.
In long, long order, two and two.

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The moon, that thro' the portal shone,
Shone on his reverend head.

Thro' many a court and gallery dim

Slowly he led, the burial-hymn
Swelling from the distant choir.
But now the holy men retire;
The arched cloisters issuing thro',
In long, long order, two and two.

When other sounds had died away,
And the waves were heard alone,
They entered, tho' unused to pray,
Where God was worshipped, night and day,
And the dead knelt round in stone;
They entered, and from aisle to aisle
Wandered with folded arms awhile,
Where on his altar-tomb reclined
The crosiered Abbot; and the Knight
In harness for the Christian fight,
His hands in supplication joined ;-
Then said as in a solemn mood,

"Now stand we where COLUMBUS stood !"

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