If, in the churchyard, thou shouldst meet
The ‘Gaoler[1]’ of the maiden, greet
(Thou poet’s treasure, fair and fleet!)
Her ears with ‘psalms’ of all the ills
With which that maid my bosom fills!
Blessed nuns, fair saints from every land,
In their bright cells my suit withstand:
Those sacred snow-hued virgins, white
As gossamer, on mountain height;
Those maids, like swallows to behold
Those holy damsels of the choir,
Sisters[2] to Morvyth, bright as gold!
Oh, visit her, at my desire,
And if thy efforts vain should be,
To lure her from the priory,
And thou the snow-complexioned maid
With songs of praise can’st not persuade
Her lover in the grove to meet,
Then carry her upon thy feet—
Delude the nun who, in yon shrine,
Rings[3] the small bell!—the abbess cheat!—
Before the summer moon shall shine,
With pure white ray, the black robed nun
To the green woodland must be won!
At length, apparently weary of his fruitless fidelity, he returned to the hospitable mansion of his patron; and the welcome manner in which he seems to have been again received, proves that his affection for the daughter had not produced any serious displeasure
