Volume II Part 6 (2/2)

”The old convent ruin the ivy rots off, Where the owl hoots by day and the toad is sun-proof, Where no singing-birds build and the trees gaunt and grey As in stormy sea-coasts appear blasted one way-- But is _this_ the wind's doing?

X.

”A nun in the east wall was buried alive Who mocked at the priest when he called her to shrive, And shrieked such a curse, as the stone took her breath, The old abbess fell backwards and swooned unto death With an Ave half-spoken.

XI.

”I tried once to pa.s.s it, myself and my hound, Till, as fearing the lash, down he s.h.i.+vered to ground-- A brave hound, my mother! a brave hound, ye wot!

And the wolf thought the same with his fangs at her throat In the pa.s.s of the Brocken.

XII.

”At dawn and at eve, mother, who sitteth there With the brown rosary never used for a prayer?

Stoop low, mother, low! If we went there to see, What an ugly great hole in that east wall must be At dawn and at even!

XIII.

”Who meet there, my mother, at dawn and at even?

Who meet by that wall, never looking to heaven?

O sweetest my sister, what doeth with _thee_ The ghost of a nun with a brown rosary And a face turned from heaven?

XIV.

”Saint Agnes o'erwatcheth my dreams and erewhile I have felt through mine eyelids the warmth of her smile; But last night, as a sadness like pity came o'er her, She whispered--'Say _two_ prayers at dawn for Onora: The Tempted is sinning.'”

XV.

”Onora, Onora!” they heard her not coming, Not a step on the gra.s.s, not a voice through the gloaming; But her mother looked up, and she stood on the floor Fair and still as the moonlight that came there before, And a smile just beginning:

XVI.

It touches her lips but it dares not arise To the height of the mystical sphere of her eyes, And the large musing eyes, neither joyous nor sorry Sing on like the angels in separate glory Between clouds of amber;

XVII.

For the hair droops in clouds amber-coloured till stirred Into gold by the gesture that comes with a word; While--O soft!--her speaking is so interwound Of the dim and the sweet, 't is a twilight of sound And floats through the chamber.

XVIII.

”Since thou shrivest my brother, fair mother,” said she ”I count on thy priesthood for marrying of me, And I know by the hills that the battle is done.

That my lover rides on, will be here with the sun, 'Neath the eyes that behold thee.”

XIX.

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