Glimpses of Antiquity Being a collection of metrical sketches, in the form of ballads, lyrics, &c., with main reference to mediaeval times or classical subjects. By George F. Preston [i.e. J. B. L. Warren] |
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THE CONVENT LOVE. |
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 | Glimpses of Antiquity |  |
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THE CONVENT LOVE.
God well knoweth how I love thee!
Pale one, hid in convent walls
Where the lindens wave above thee,
While their withered blossom falls!
God well knoweth, how forsaken,
Nightly doth my heart awaken,
When the midnight chimes are wafted,
Slowly, drearily, are wafted,
From the gleaming convent walls!
Pale one, hid in convent walls
Where the lindens wave above thee,
While their withered blossom falls!
God well knoweth, how forsaken,
Nightly doth my heart awaken,
When the midnight chimes are wafted,
Slowly, drearily, are wafted,
From the gleaming convent walls!
When thy midnight hymns arise,
Creeps a whisper o'er the trees;
Mingling ever, with my sighs,
On the moaning of the breeze:
Then, God knoweth, how forsaken
To my anguish I awaken,
When the long slow mass is chanted,
By a form my soul is haunted,
Veiled and on its knees.
Creeps a whisper o'er the trees;
Mingling ever, with my sighs,
On the moaning of the breeze:
Then, God knoweth, how forsaken
To my anguish I awaken,
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By a form my soul is haunted,
Veiled and on its knees.
Saintlike one! with thoughts of heaven
Written o'er thy perfect mind;
Pray! for peace to thee is given,
That I too some rest may find.
Pray that I, the all-forsaken,
From that rest may ne'er awaken,
Death the prayed for! sadly wanted,
I will greet thee, nothing daunted,
As a mother kind!
Written o'er thy perfect mind;
Pray! for peace to thee is given,
That I too some rest may find.
Pray that I, the all-forsaken,
From that rest may ne'er awaken,
Death the prayed for! sadly wanted,
I will greet thee, nothing daunted,
As a mother kind!
Hark, how sad a dove complains,
From her convent linden's nest,
Now no little one remains
Warm against her brooding breast,—
Of her fledglings reft, forsaken,
Her doth also sorrow waken,
And like mine her useless wailing,
To the heedless wind complaining,
Is in vain addressed!
From her convent linden's nest,
Now no little one remains
Warm against her brooding breast,—
Of her fledglings reft, forsaken,
Her doth also sorrow waken,
And like mine her useless wailing,
To the heedless wind complaining,
Is in vain addressed!
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Dashed against yon turrets hoar,
Birdling, from thy nested height!
And my love returns no more,
Deep immured in convent night;
Till one morn she shall awaken,
From this world of sorrow taken,
Where the strains of heaven are wafted,
Fair beyond all thought are wafted,
Borne by angel-flight!
Birdling, from thy nested height!
And my love returns no more,
Deep immured in convent night;
Till one morn she shall awaken,
From this world of sorrow taken,
Where the strains of heaven are wafted,
Fair beyond all thought are wafted,
Borne by angel-flight!
| Glimpses of Antiquity | |