Chapter M: Arnold

THE GRAND CHARTREUSE

Through Alpine meadows, soft-suffused With rain, where thick the crocus blows, Past the dark forges long disused, The mule-track from Saint Laurent goes. The bridge is crossed, and slow we ride, 5 Through forest, up the mountain-side.

The autumnal evening darkens round The wind is up, and drives the rain; While hark! far down, with strangled sound Doth the Dead Guiers' stream complain, 10 Where that wet smoke among the woods Over his boiling cauldron broods.

Swift rush the spectral vapours white Past limestone scars with ragged pines, Showing--then blotting from our sight. 15 Halt! through the cloud-drift something shines! High in the valley, wet and drear, The huts of Courrerie appear.

_Strike leftward!_ cries our guide; and higher Mounts up the stony forest-way. 20 At last the encircling trees retire; Look! through the showery twilight grey What pointed roofs are these advance? A palace of the Kings of France?

Approach, for what we seek is here. 25 Alight and sparely sup and wait For rest in this outbuilding near; Then cross the sward and reach that gate; Knock; pass the wicket! Thou art come To the Carthusians' world-famed home. 30