On a Young and Beautiful Nun

Farewell ! untimely victim! and sweet flower,
That in the very morning of your prime
Art rudely torn from Nature's genial clime
To hymns and penance at the moon's pale hour!—
As if the heart could thus abjure its power,
When summon'd by the Convent's doleful chime
To Superstition's impious pantomime—
Shorn, and with beads adorn'd—the nuptial dower
 Of Brides to Heaven!—But what if hopeless Love
Has found it's winding passage to the soul
 With subtle venom?—Pray to be no more!
 And wafted hence into the realms above;
Before the passions rise in their controul,
 Eternal rest with trembling hopes implore!
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