Page:A Tale of the Secret Tribunal.pdf/54

And a fragrant cloud from the Censer’s breath
Half hid the sacred pomp beneath;
And still the peal of choral song
Swell'd the resounding aisles along;
Wakening, in its triumphant flow,
Deep echoes from the graves below.

    Why, from its woodland birth-place torn,
Doth summer's rose that scene adorn?
Why breathes the incense to the sky?
Why swells th' exulting harmony?
–And seest thou not yon form, so light,
It seems half floating on the sight,
As if the whisper of a gale,
That did but wave its snowy veil,
Might bear it from the earth afar,
A lovely, but receding star?
Know, that devotion's shrine, e'en now,
Receives that youthful vestal's vow,
For this, high hymns, sweet odours rise,
A jubilee of sacrifice!
Mark yet a moment! from her brow
Yon priest shall lift the veil of snow,
Ere yet a darker mantle hide
The charms, to Heaven thus sanctified;
Stay thee! and catch their parting gleam,
That ne'er shall fade from memory's dream.