And a sister for her loveliness, May not be lov'd the more ; But as, the fount's full heart beneath, My sister's beauty seem'd to breathe St. Mona has a chapel dim Within the altar's fretted pale, Where faintly comes the swelling hymn, And dies, half lost, the anthem's wail. And here, in twilight meet for prayer, A single lamp hangs o'er the shrine, And Raphael's Mary, soft and fair, Looks down with sweetness half divine, And here St. Mona's nuns alway Through lattic'd bars are seen to pray. Avé and sacrament were o'er, And Angelo and Melanie Still knelt the holy shrine before; But prayer, that morn was not for me! My heart was lock'd! The lip might stir, The frame might agonize-and yet, Oh God! I could not pray for her! A seal upon my soul was set My brow was hot—my brain opprest― And fiends seem'd muttering round, "Your bridal is unblest !" With forehead to the lattice laid, And thin, white fingers straining through, A nun the while had softly pray'd. Oh, ev'n in prayer that voice I knew! Each faltering word—each mournful tone Each pleading cadence, half-suppress'd Such music had its like alone On lips that stole it at her breast! And ere the orison was done I lov'd the mother as the son! And now, the marriage vows to hear, The nun unveil'd her brow When, sudden, to my startled ear, There crept a whisper, hoarse like fear, "De Brevern! is it thou!" The priest let fall the golden ring, The bridegroom stood aghast, While, like some weird and frantic thing, And as, in dread, I nearer drew, She thrust her arms the lattice through, And held me to her straining view But suddenly begun To steal upon her brain a light That stagger'd soul, and sense, and sight, And, with a mouth all ashy white, She shriek'd, "It is his son !" The bridegroom is thy blood-thy brother! And, as that doom of love was heard, My sister sunk-and died—without a sign or word! |