Ask not, in beauty's prime why VALIERE strove (8) By pious vows to quench the throb of love, When royal pride with guilt, that ne'er shall fade, Spurned the fond victim, whom his art betrayed. Too frail for virtue, and for vice too good, Mid the drear abbey's gloom could proudly know -Where the cold coffin guards its virgin's sleep, (9) And holy penance lives to watch and weep, The lovelorn nymph, each human frailty o'er, Gave her fond heart to tremble and adore. Supernal Power, tho pain, tho sickness press, Wing the sharp pang, and urge the keen distress, Tho drear confinement every feeling chill, Arrest the wish, and mock the imprisoned will, Thro every change thy active charm prevails, Each thought enlivens, and each sense regales, And, o'er the scene when darker horror lowers, Illumes with moral light the weary hours. Lo, where the torches throw reverted light, What solemn pageants crowd the funeral rite! Gleam the wan moonbeams o'er the flapping shroud ; Nor more is heard, save in some dismal pause From rank to rank a sullen murmur draws, And save, where, perch'd the neighbouring yews among, The boding raven croaks his hateful song. Hark! from the tombs the faultering service read, Dust to the dust consigned, and dead to dead; The victim fell in youth's unblemished pride, A darling sister, and a destined bride, Cropped, like some flower in native beauty gay, On the sunk coffin pelts the rattling earth! Ungracious sound at whose disasterous tale The live flesh quivers, and the moon grows pale : Shriek follows shriek, the fainting mourners yearn, And close the delved house, whence is no return. Sure, if one scene in misery's darkest hour E'er thro the soul diffused a deadly power, That scene were here, when midnight's startling chill Crawls o'er the flesh in mockery of the will! Yet deem not hence, distempered fancy led Such lonely rituals o'er sepulchered dead; From glooms, like these, the kindred soul shall glean Those holier sentiments, that work unseen, From human ills shall snatch a zeal sublime, Its trust in heaven, its triumph over time. Go, view the convent's dull, monastic gloom, Cold, as despair, and silent, as the tomb, Where harsh religion rules with bigot sway The lingering hour, and damps the tedious day; Where rayless horror o'er the embrio joy Hangs, like some fiend, to strangle and destroy ; In vain the bosom heaves with passion's sigh, Rubies the lip, or melts the azure eye; In vain the cheek with love's carnation glows, Since here the virgin pines in holy dread, Still here are charms, by mental truth refined, To lure affliction from the wounded mind; Here vestal zeal on rapt devotion soars, Hark, from yon cloisters, wrapt in gloom profound, The solemn organ peals its midnight sound; The choral anthem swells along the aisle, Bursts the deep vaults, and shakes the echoing pile, While trembling gleams, as distant tapers move, Sweep the cold walls, and fringe the cypress grove. With cautious reverence round their glimmering shrine Press the meek nuns, and raise the prayer divine; Here, weeping penance lifts her reddened eye, Pours the weak plaint, and breathes the heartfelt sigh; There, wan devotion bends with wistful gaze, Or chants the vocal hymn of vesper praise; While, pure in thought as sweet responses rise, And sweet SECLUSION whispers promised joy. Else, when bold freedom late in thunder's voice (10) Burst their dim cells, and bade the dead rejoice, |