Through friendless wastes, through treacherous woodland, slow
     The feet sustained by track of feet pursued
     Pained steps, and found the common brotherhood
     By sign of Heaven indifferent, Nature foe.

     VII.

     Anon a mason’s work amazed the sight,
     And long-frocked men, called Brothers, there abode. 
     They pointed up, bowed head, and dug and sowed;
     Whereof was shelter, loaf, and warm firelight.

     VIII.

     What words they taught were nails to scratch the head. 
     Benignant works explained the chanting brood. 
     Their monastery lit black solitude,
     As one might think a star that heavenward led.

     IX.

     Uprose a fairer nest for weary feet,
     Like some gold flower nightly inward curled,
     Where gentle maidens fled a roaring world,
     Or played with it, and had their white retreat.

     X.

     Into big books of metal clasps they pored. 
     They governed, even as men; they welcomed lays. 
     The treasures women are whose aim is praise,
     Was shown in them:  the Garden half restored.

     XI.

     A deluge billow scoured the land off seas,
     With widened jaws, and slaughter was its foam. 
     For food, for clothing, ambush, refuge, home,
     The lesser savage offered bogs and trees.

     XII.

     Whence reverence round grey-haired story grew: 
     And inmost spots of ancient horror shone
     As temples under beams of trials bygone;
     For in them sang brave times with God in view.

     XIII.

     Till now trim homesteads bordered spaces green,
     Like night’s first little stars through clearing showers. 
     Was rumoured how a castle’s falcon towers
     The wilderness commanded with fierce mien.

     XIV.

     Therein a serious Baron stuck his lance;
     For minstrel songs a beauteous Dame would pout. 
     Gay knights and sombre, felon or devout,
     Pricked onward, bound for their unsung romance.

     XV.

     It might be that two errant lords across
     The block of each came edged, and at sharp cry
     They charged forthwith, the better man to try. 
     One rode his way, one couched on quiet moss.

     XVI.

     Perchance a lady sweet, whose lord lay slain,
     The robbers into gruesome durance drew. 
     Swift should her hero come, like lightning’s blue! 
     She prayed for him, as crackling drought for rain.

     XVII.

     As we, that ere the worst her hero haps,
     Of Angels guided, nigh that loathly den: 
     A toady cave beside an ague fen,
     Where long forlorn the lone dog whines and yaps.

     XVIII.

     By daylight now the forest fear could read
     Itself, and at new wonders chuckling went. 
     Straight for the roebuck’s neck the bowman spent
     A dart that laughed at distance and at speed.