University of Virginia Library

Search this document 
  

collapse sectionI. 
collapse section 
  
  
On a distant View of the English Convents of Nuns, at Winchester. Written on the Day of the Hill-Fair, September 12, 1804.
  
expand section 
expand sectionIII. 


233

On a distant View of the English Convents of Nuns, at Winchester. Written on the Day of the Hill-Fair, September 12, 1804.

Ye self-devoted! if ye live
Far from whate'er the world can give;
The social joys that youth engage,
Enchant the gay, seduce the sage;
If far from scenes where passions range
In wild and never-ending change;
Love, hate, indiff'rence, grief, and bliss—
Ye sisters pale, if these you miss,
And these escsping, if you shun
The scenes in which such miriads run

234

With head-long speed, or progress slow,
Alike the cause of human woe;
Ne'er can the Muse your lot deplore,
But hail the convent's sheltering door.
Far from that convent's sacred walls,
In lofty domes and stately halls,
Where Grandeur, Luxury, and Pride,
In pomp and pageantry reside;
From Glory's crimson path as far,
And all the scenes of ruthless war,
Where madd'ning Vict'ry's chariots roll,
Or Mirth, more frantic, drains the bowl;
If e'en that transport of the heart,
O Love, which thou can best impart;
If the sweet tie of offspring dear,
If bliss, that rises to a tear,
And aches with tender happiness,
Frail man, thou canst not bear excess.—
—Yes,—if all these,—and thousands more,
From the world's never-failing store,
Too various for the Muse to tell,
Fly,—when you bid the world farewell;
Ne'er can the Muse your lot deplore,
But hail the convent's shelt'ring door.
If, above all, from guests more rude,
From the foul fiend, Ingratitude,
You shut the everlasting door,
How can the Muse your lot deplore?
If this be true, ye sisters pale,
The muse shall ne'er your lot bewail;
No more shall deem the nunnery's gloom
Worse than the darkness of the tomb,

235

But hail the hour that sets you free,
O world! from thy iniquity.
But if, when from that world you run,
You meet more evils than you shun;
If, closed within your convent walls,
You ne'er can hear when Sorrow calls,
Or miss the good you might dispense,
To objects of benevolence;
The orphan's sigh, the widow's moan,
The mother's tear, the father's groan,
The smile of joy, when help is near,
The love, which well repays the tear:
If far removed from these you dwell,
Soon as you bid the world farewell;
Still must the Muse the fate deplore,
That shuts upon the world the door.