Oft did the cliff, and swelling main, Recal the thoughts of Whitby's fane,A home she ne'er might see again; For she had laid adown, So Douglas bade, the hood and veil, It were unseemly sight, he said, A novice out of convent shade. Now her bright locks, with sunny glow, Her mantle rich, whose borders, round, Remained a cross with ruby stone; And often did she look On that which in her hand she bore, With velvet bound, and broidered o'er, Her breviary book. In such a place, so lone, so grim, At dawning pale, or twilight dim, It fearful would have been, To meet a form so richly dressed, Fitz-Eustace, loitering with his bow, To practise on the gull and crow, Some love-lorn Fay she might have been, IV. Once walking thus, at evening tide, Her peaceful rule, where Duty, free, High vision, and deep mystery; Was it, that, seared by sinful scorn, My heart could neither melt nor burn? With him, that taught them first to glow?— Yet, gentle Abbess, well I knew, To pay thy kindness grateful due, And well could brook the mild command, That ruled thy simple maiden band.— a See Note. How different now! condemned to bide My doom from this dark tyrant's pride.— That constant mind, and hate of wrong, From Red De Clare, stout Gloster's Earl. He ne'er shall bend, although he break. V. "But see!-what makes this armour here?" For in her path there lay Targe, corslet, helm;—she viewed them near."The breast-plate pierced!-Aye, much I fear, Weak fence wert thou 'gainst foeman's spear, That hath made fatal entrance here, As these dark blood-gouts say.- Thus Wilton!--Oh! not corslet's ward, On yon disastrous day!"— She raised her eyes in mournful mood,— It might have seemed his passing ghost; For every youthful grace was lost, Gave their strange wildness to his eyes.- Each changing passion's shade; And joy, with her angelic air, And hope, that paints the future fair, Their varying hues displayed: Each o'er its rival's ground extending, Alternate conquering, shifting, blending, |