Poems and Plays :: :: University of Virginia Library

Now pants the night-breeze thro' the darken'd air,
And Silence sooths the vestal world to rest,
Save where some pale-ey'd novice (rapt in pray'r)
Heaves a deep moan, and smites her guiltless breast.

Within those ancient walls with moss o'erspread,
Where Grief and Innocence their vigils keep,
Each in her humble cell till midnight laid,
The gentle daughters of Devotion sleep.

Of Wantonness the pleasure-breathing lay,
Or Laughter beck'ning from his rosy seat,
Or Vanity attir'd in colours gay,
Shall ne'er allure them from their sober state.

Domestic comforts they shall never know,
Nor voice of kindred reach their distant ear:
Ne'er with a mother's transport shall they glow,
While playful children charm the ling'ring year.

The various flow'rs in many a wreath they twine,
To crown the altar on some festive day;
How fervent do they kiss each holy shrine!
How thro' the columns streams the choral lay!

Let not Ambition mock with jest profane,
The life that woos Retreat's obscurest shade,
Nor worldly Beauty with a sneer disdain,
The humble duties of the cloister'd Maid.

The glist'ning eye, the half-seen breast of snow,
The coral lip, the blush of Nature's bloom,
Awaits alike th' inexorable foe,
The paths of Pleasure lead but to the tomb.

Perhaps in this drear mansion are confin'd
Some bosom form'd to love, unspoil'd by art;
Charms that might soften the severest mind,
And wake to extacy the coldest heart.

Full many a riv'let wand'ring to the main,
Sequester'd pours its solitary stream:
Full many a lamp devoted to the fane,
Sheds unregarded its nocturnal beam.

Some uncrown'd Margaret, loit'ring in her cell,
By Nature form'd bright Glory's course to run;
Here some inglorious Mountagu may dwell,
Some Editha , unconscious of a son.

From Flatt'ry's lip to drink the sweets of praise,
In conscious charms with rivals still to vie:
In circles to attract the partial gaze,
And view their beauty in th' admirer's eye,

Their lot forbids: nor does alone remove
The thirst of praise, but e'en their crimes restrain:
Forbids thro' Folly's labyrinth to rove,
And yield to Vanity the flowing rein.

To rear 'mid Hymen's joys domestic strife,
Or seek that converse which they ought to shun;
To loose the sacred ties of nuptial life,
And give to many what they vow'd to one.

What tho' they're sprinkled with etherial dew!
With blooming wreaths by hands of Seraphs crown'd!
Tho' Heav'n's unfading splendors burst to view,
And harps celestial to their ear resound!

Still Recollection prompts the frequent sigh,
The chearful scenes of younger days arise;
Still to their native home their wishes fly,
Affection's stream still gushes from their eyes:

For who entranc'd in visions from above,
The thought of kindred razes from the mind?
Feels in the soul no warm returning love,
For some endear'd companion left behind?

Their joy-encircled hearth as they forsook,
From some fond breast reluctant they withdrew;
As from the deck they sent a farewell look,
Fair Albion sunk for ever from their view.

For thee who mindful of th' encloister'd train,
Dost in these lines their mournful tale relate,
If by Compassion guided to this fane,
Some kindred spirit shall enquire thy fate:

Haply some matron-vestal may reply,
“Oft have we heard him, when Light's ling'ring ray
“Scarce mark'd its passage thro' the dark'ning sky,
“At yonder altar join the vesper-lay.

“Where hapless Adaleida sought repose,
“Oft at yon grave wou'd he her fate condole!
“And in his breast as scenes of grief arose,
“He saw ascending slow her spotless soul:

Peace to my Edward's heart, the vision said,
Ah! not unseen thou shed'st that grateful tear:
I wait at night to catch thy wonted tread,
And thank thy faithful love that sorrows here.

“One eve I miss'd him at the hour divine;
“Along that isle, and in the sacristy:
“Another came, not yet beside the shrine,
“Not at the font, nor in the church was he:

“The next we heard the bell of Death intone,
“And to his grave we mov'd, a mournful band;
“Approach and read, on this sepulchral stone,
“These lines, engrav'd by Friendship's holy hand:”

EPITAPH.

Pause o'er the Youth—nor grudge the short delay
Full soon his little history is told—
He gave to Solitude the pensive day,
And Pity fram'd his bosom of her mould.

This Poem, which was placed at the end of the volume in the former edition, comes with greater propriety immediately after the Nun: for as there Adaleida foretels her fate, so is her death mentioned in the Nunnery, and marked with some peculiar circumstances, which render the present Poem a supplement to the preceding one.

Mr. Pope's Mother.