His eyes how very bright! and on his cheek
There burnt too clear a red for exercise.
—That night beheld her at the Virgin’s feet,
That night was witness to her vow; no more
The lady Emily joined in the dance,
Or wreathed white pearls around her whiter brow;
No more she waked the lute;—and on the day,
The last worst day, her youngest sister died,
She knelt before her father, and implored
A blessing on his consecrated child,
And said the cloister was her destiny.
In vain were prayers, reproaches,—forth she went;
Her heart had dwelt upon this sacrifice
Until it seemed accepted; and her tears,
Her vigils, at the lonely midnight hour,
Her youth resigning even its sweet self,
Would surely plead with Heaven, and win its boon,
And that dear brother would be spared to make
His aged father happy. And this hope
Haunted her prayers until it grew to faith.
A year had passed since last her auburn hair
Was loosed to catch the sunbeams and the breeze;—
A year had passed since in that lonely cell
Her knees had worn away the cold, dark stone:
Austerity and anxious orisons
Had made the paleness of her cheek more clear;
Her face was even as an angel's face
Eyes that have looked to heaven till they are filled
With light, the element of those pure skies;—
