CARNAC BRETAGNE

How can one dare to describe Carnac? 

By Matthew Arnold

"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 grassy 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 

Streams 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 bluebells 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, touched with light, one snowy 

sail. "