University of Virginia Library

LI.

The lady's heart seem'd weary, and she sank,
In sudden weakness, on a velvet bank,
That bore upon its gently rising green
The marble image of a Magdalen.
The victim clasp'd and kiss'd the statue's feet,
And swept their damps with long and raven hair,
Then on her rosary said a whisper'd prayer:
The weeping rite was done; and to the sky,
As if she communed with a spirit there,
She turn'd and spoke—the words came tremblingly;
“And costs it all this bitterness to die?
Oh, how I lived upon his look, his step,
His distant voice, his very garments' sweep:
Gazed on him from my secret shade, until
I felt my brain with growing phrensy thrill:
Then bore away his glance, his slightest word,
From that fond hour among my treasures stored;
My bitter food of thought for nights and days.—
The heart by death alone itself betrays,
And mine was wild and wretched, yet could hide,
Thank Heaven, the pang by which it all but died.
Maria, angel, from thy throne above
Bear witness of my homage to thy love;
Hating the cell, I plunged within the cell,
The boasted cure of those who love too well.
When thou wast borne to thy reward sublime,
And passion was no crime,—oh was 't a crime
To follow my soul's lord through toil and pain,
To face the sword, the pestilence, the chain,
To watch him day and night, as spirits move
Round those they love, mine was no earthly love?—
I made the vow: 't was kept. I lived to see
The price of vows forgotten, Heaven, to thee!
A nun, thy pledged, thy consecrated bride,
A perjured wanderer by a mortal's side!
I was repaid; I sought his eye in vain;
I heard,—the word is desperate,—his disdain.”