yed:
For he declines the convent oath,
And leaves those locks unhallowed growth, 900
But wears our garb in all beside;
And, not from piety but pride,
Gives wealth to walls that never heard
Of his one holy vow nor word.
Lo!--mark ye, as the harmony[dx]
Peals louder praises to the sky,
That livid cheek, that stony air
Of mixed defiance and despair!
Saint Francis, keep him from the shrine![dy]
Else may we dread the wrath divine 910
Made manifest by awful sign.
If ever evil angel bore
The form of mortal, such he wore;
By all my hope of sins forgiven,
Such looks are not of earth nor heaven!"

To Love the softest hearts are prone,
But such can ne'er be all his own;
Too timid in his woes to share,
Too meek to meet, or brave despair;
And sterner hearts alone may feel 920
The wound that Time can never heal.
The rugged metal of the mine
Must burn before its surface shine,[dz][112]
But plunged within the furnace-flame,
It bends and melts--though still the same;
Then tempered to thy want, or will,
'Twill serve thee to defend or kill--
A breast-plate for thine hour of need,
Or blade to bid thy foeman bleed;
But if a dagger's form it bear, 930
Let those who shape its edge, beware!
Thus Passion's fire, and Woman's art,
Can turn and tame the sterner heart;
From these its form and tone are ta'en,
And what they make it, must remain,
But break--before it bend again.

* * * * *

* * * * *

If solitude succeed to grief,
Release from pain is slight relief;
The vacant bosom's wilderness
Might thank the pang that made it less.[113] 940
We loathe what none are left to share:
Even bliss--'twere woe alone to bear;
The heart once left thus desolate
Must fly at last for ease--to hate.
It is as if the dead could feel[114]
The icy worm around them steal,
And shudder, as the reptiles creep
To revel o'er their rotting sleep,
Without the power to scare away
The cold consumers of their clay! 950
It is as if the desert bird,[115]
Whose beak unlocks her bosom's str