One searching glance around he cast-
That strange and weary one,-

And as each Nun before him past,
His gaze was fix'd upon the last-

Who as she slowly glided by,

And turn'd her sympathising eye

Upon the lonely man,→→→

Why did she start, with changing hue?
One pallid rose the stranger threw
Before her feet, then raised his eyes—
'Twas Percy-under pilgrim's 'guise!

PART SIXTH.

"Now the night grows deep,

And silent as its clouds, and full of sleep."

"Hark! a bell's slow chime:

My heart strikes with it. Yet again,-'tis time!
A step-a voice."

MRS. HEMANS.

THE Convent bells are chiming slow,

The Nuns to morning service go,

And their low anthem soft and clear
Comes sweetly on the listening ear.
The faultering voice and changing cheek,
And fluttering heart alone bespeak
Thy waking hope, sweet Agnes Vere!
Thy doubt, thy joy was Percy near?
Long loved-long lost-and found again,
When a deep gulf must part them ever;
And yet it was a pleasing pain,

Once more that face to see, though never,
Could former things again intrude,
On her chill'd bosom's solitude!

The day wore on, and twilight dews,

Did their still influence diffuse ;

The flowers their silky leaves were closing,

The birds in dusky bowers reposing,

Afar, afar, sweet Philomel,

Did her melodious measure swell:

And branches threw a deeper shade,

Where the low night-breeze on them play'd. Agnes was listening to each sound,

That broke the deepening silence round,

For Hope-the syren, whispered yet,—

Can Percy, I am near, forget;

Will he depart without a word ?—

Was it the wind the branches stirr'd ?

And whose the step, that softly falls
Stealthily near the convent walls?

Who was the stranger standing there,

Array'd in pilgrim's guise?

'Twas Percy's self, the martial air,

The earnest voice, the beaming eyes

All, all returned-again to bring,

Long banish'd hope, her soul to cheer;

She knew it was a fearful thing

Those words again to hear.

66

PART SIXTH.

'Agnes, the palmer's weeds I wear, To thee are no disguise,

I read it in thy gathering tear

Thy recognizing eyes;

And in thy faded looks I see,
What makes thee dearer still to me:
A love unchanged, a heart as true,
As when our young affection grew,
In thy ancestral bowers;

Oh, brief the time is now to tell,

How fondly I have loved-how well

How dwelt upon those hours!

How I have mourn'd thy selfish guile,
Abbot of Thornton, and the wile

That snared my bird-a captive now,
And fetter'd with a life-long vow.

I know thy very soul rebels,

At all the mummery that dwells

Within these walls. Thou shalt be free

From this religious mockery!

Then fly with me, where bigot power

Can never reach us more ;

Oh fly with me!—within an hour,

The chance of freedom o'er,

37

Morning will bring the weary day,
Thy pilgrim will be far away.

Onward our course, for we will dwell
In Piedmont's vallies lone,

And leave thy beads and narrow cell,
O'er the blue waters borne.-

How sweetly calm our lives will glide,
Beneath some mountain's flowery side:
Like a clear stream, our lives will flow,
Without a cloud." "No, Percy, no,

I may not dare not-break the chain
That binds me with hard links of pain;
Enough for me to know thy love

True and unchanged as ever;

But there are bands around me wove,

I may not dare not sever!

My cheek may fade, my heart may break,

My weary spirit long to fly

From mortal woe, its rest to seek,

Beyond yon starry canopy!

"

But the dread vow these lips have spoken,

May never save by death be broken:
For my fond father's safety given,

An offering is my soul to heaven ;