Matthew Arnold - Stanzas from Carnac lyrics

Far on its rocky knoll descried Saint Michael's chapel cuts the sky. I climb'd;—beneath me, bright and wide, Lay the lone coast of Brittany. Bright in the sunset, weird and still, It lay beside the Atlantic wave, As though the wizard Merlin's will Yet charm'd it from his forest-grave. Behind me on their gra**y sweep, Bearded with lichen, scrawl'd and grey, The giant stones of Carnac sleep, In the mild evening of the May. No priestly stern procession now Moves through their rows of pillars old; No victims bleed, no Druids bow— Sheep make the daisied aisles their fold. From bush to bush the cuckoo flies, The orchis red gleams everywhere; Gold furze with broom in blossom vies, The blue-bells perfume all the air. 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, 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; But, on the horizon's verge descried, Hangs, touch'd with light, one snowy sail! Ah! where is he, who should have come Where that far sail is pa**ing now, Past the Loire's mouth, and by the foam Of Finistère's unquiet brow, Home, round into the English wave? —He tarries where the Rock of Spain Mediterranean waters lave; He enters not the Atlantic main. Oh, could he once have reach'd this air Freshen'd by plunging tides, by showers! Have felt this breath he loved, of fair Cool northern fields, and gra**, and flowers! He long'd for it—press'd on.—In vain! At the Straits fail'd that spirit brave. The south was parent of his pain, The south is mistress of his grave.