VI. All hearts are stirred,—but chiefly her's who kneel In silent homage there. She lifts her face To Heaven, but still her milk-white veil conceals Its features from the view. Her form of grace, Through its dim shadowy foldings, you may trace, Fine as those curves of beauty in the skies Which speak of Hope when storms are near, and chas The clouds of dark despondency. All eyes Are fixed upon her, now, in pity or surprise. VII. For, hark! In measured tones, the convent-bell Booms heavily on the ear. With stooping browAs mindful of the duty its deep knell Proclaims, and voice sweet as the musical flow Of desert waters, she repeats the vow That shuts her from the world. In accents mild, The father questions, if the words that now By circumstance, or wish unstable, vain, or wild? VIII. She answers him : They are.'-'Tis well, he cries, And, gently bidding the young vestal rise, As Hesper, when he breaks from curtaining clouds of night. IX. O'er her white brow her wandering hair descends In rich unbraided rings ;—a coronal Of lilies, wreathed amid each cluster, lends An added grace; and, as at evening's fall Day struggles with the annihilating pall That darkness would shed o'er it, so the gleam Of her transparent forehead shines through all The chesnut curls that shadow it :-so stream With tremulous light the rays that from her deep eyes beam. X. Her's is that nameless loveliness that sinks On the beholder's heart; and if he seeks, Whilst his full glance her blaze of beauty drinks, Of rose or ruby lips or violet eyes!- XI. She looks around :-upon her delicate lips But soon a passing thought, in dark eclipse, Of the loud organ's tones grows gathering gush on gush. XII. And now she joins the choir, whose voices swell, Swell and subside, then rise, and sink again, Like ocean's billows when the winds rebel, And surge on surge prevails. Sudden the strain Hath ceased; as when upon the watery plain Hushed is, at length, that wild and witching tide; And organ, harp, voice, lute, have into silence died. XIII. The sable veil is brought ;-the prayer is said ; The silken tress and lilied wreath removed; And sighs are heaved, and silent tears are shed Ah! who could view this last sad rite unmoved!— XIV. Yet she is firm, and with unfailing voice Pours forth the final hymn; and it would seem, That she hath 'scaped the worldling's chequered dream. Religion, now, must be the only theme On which her heart may dwell. Life's darkest ills Can ne'er again disturb the peaceful stream Of her sweet thoughts, delayed Hope's withering chills, Ambition's glittering gauds, nor Passion's thousand thrills, XV. Wake discord on her mind's melodious lyre, Perchance her heart Hath been too fiercely chastened in the fire If schooled in sorrow thus she bends submiss! |