* ^ ,* ... .'^^ *^ ^^^ ^^ THE CONVENT BELL, THE CONVEifT BELL: OTHER POEMS BT OHARLOTTE ELIZABETH. 7c NEW YORK: PUBLISHED BY JOHN S. TAYLOR & CO^ No. 145 Nassau Street. 1845. S . W . BENEDICT (c CO Stereotypers and Printers, 16 Spruce Street. THE CONVENT BELL A TALE. CANTO I. I. Hark ! to the distant Convent Bell, That rolls its deep and solemn knell Upon the passing breeze : The choral strain has died away, And the last taper's glimmering ray Has faded from the trees. Again the silver moon-beams rest Unbroken on the mountain's breast Tkat rises in majestic grace, And naught beneath the midnight beam Is heard, save yonder winding stream, That murmurs at its base. II. It is not long since this lone glen Rang to the tread of armed men. Britons they were, whose blood had dyed The Douro's rushing wave. When many a crest of martial pride Found by that gloomy torrent's side A low and silent grave. THE CONVENT BELL. The Conqueror had drawn his train Back tow'rd Abrantes height, From thence to succor trenibhng Spain, With his collected might. This was a little wounded band, Who left beneath Oporto's towers, Had risen with renovated powers, And longed to grasp the vengeful brand, And by their peerless Wellesley led, Wreak Europe's wrongs on Gallia's head. III. Their Chief was one whom glory's call Had tempted from his father's hall. In manhood's early prime ; He left his Erin's emerald Isle, The charms of home, and beauty's smile, The steeps of fame to climb ; And well his warlike deeds might grace The glories of his ancient race. ^ Touch but his heart with patriot ire, ^ His dark eye flashed a living fire. And his firm front withstood, In dauntless brow, the cannon's blaze ; — Unmov'd that steadfast eye could gaze On his own streaming blood, And, fainting on the field, his glance Defied the foe's protended lance, In stern unaltered mood. IV But when in that expressive eye, The beam of seQsibility THE CONVENT BELL. Resumed its wonted reign, 'Twas sofc as eve's reflected sky Upon the watery plain, When storms that heaved the waves on high Have sunk to rest again. A sabre wound brave Ronald bore. Of late from Douro's blood-stained shore, Which was but scantly healed ; Though now, impatient of delay. He heads his comrades' bright array, And leads them to the field. V. With buoyant spirits light as air, A bounding heart untouched by care. With sparkling eye, and polished brow, And downy cheek of healthful glow, The young Fitz- Arthur came ; A sprightlier youth of courage free Ne'er graced the lips of chivalry. Nor sought the fields of fame. His smile was gay as summer flowers, His heart was soft as vernal showers. And all of noble, good, sincere, In that unclouded mind appear. — VI. It boots not here to tell the name Of each from Douro's banks that came ; Suffice it they were hearts as brave As ever crossed the azure wave. THE CONVENT BELL. From Britain's chalky shore, As ever taught her foes to feel The force of that terrific steel, Her conquering legions bore. From Albion's cultivated plain, From Erin's verdant sod, From Caledonia's mountain reign, They came to rescue falling Spain From the Usurper's rod. Oporto saw the earnest given — Saw her detested foes Forth from her walls in panic driven. While to the favoring breeze of heaven St. George's banner rose. VII. The little band by Ronald lea Bent to this glen their dubious tread, As the fourth sun at evening smiled ; And here their burnished arms they piled. And sate them on the ground to share The patient soldier's simple fare. Soft was the summer eve, — it stole With soothing charm o'er Ronald's soul ; — " Seest thou Fitz-Arthur, where the beam Arrays you mountain's lofty brow ? Mark how that glory's living stream Gilds the high broken ridge, and now 'Tis gone, — and see the dazzhng sky, A gold and purple canopy, Reflected on the streamlet's face. And vying with the gorgeous flowers, That nature in this lonely place Has strewed, to shame our richest bowers. THE CONVENT BELL. VIII. " O why should man's inconstant heart Prefer the gilded wiles of art, Unmindful of the whispering voice That wooes him to a nobler choice ? Why shuns he still the lowly dell, Where truth and contemplation dwell, And seeks the gaudy edifice, By pampered folly reared to vice ; Viewing with cold and languid eye The glories of the evening sky, And pining for the midnight glare, The wild debauch, — The poisoned snare That dwells in pleasure's syren's breath, And lures to infamy and death ? — O let me still unshackled rove, With nature, friendship, peace, and love, To guide me on my way ! The tranquil wish, the classic page, Shall bless my youth and cheer my age, And consecrate my clay." IX. The rich and variegated dye, Was fading from the evening sky More clear and strong the moonbeam played, Where in the olive's chequered shade, Each weary soldier sought repose, Beside the rippling stream, While to his wandering fancy rose The home-restoring dream ; One watchful sentry paced alone, And carolled in a low-breathed tone 10 THE CONVENT BELL. The ditty of his native vale ; While, sweeping cross the mountain's side, To his half-uttered song replied In murmurs soft, the freshening gale. X. But Ronald slept not ; — o'er his frame By starts a shuddering chillness came : For spurning soon at soft repose, Impetuous from his couch he rose, Ere the skilled Leech might well assuage The fury of the fever's rage ; His half-closed wound had pained him sore, Beneath the parching ray, Yet silently the pang he bore, And seemed alert and gay, Reclined upon a rising ground, He now his throbbing brow unbound, To court the cooling breeze. Then wrapped his martial cloak around. And in calm contemplation found A momentary ease. But fiercer and more frequent came Those varying starts of chill and flame, And faint and fainter drooped his head. The sentry marked with pain and grief The sufferings of his patient Chief, And sought Fitz- Arthur's verdant bed ; — In whom for Ronald's weal he viewed A brother's fond solicitude. But vain ev'n friendship's soothing hand, And vainly pressed his faithful band, They could not calm the panting strife, Wbire death seemed combating with life ;— THE CONVENT BELL. 11 A warmer couch was quickly spread, A softer pillow propped his head, But ghastly was the languid smile, That sought to thank their zealous toil. XL Fitz- Arthur searched with piercing ken The deep recesses of the glen ; — " Is there no hut ?" he cried, " No succor can the soil afford, To him who in her quarrel poured His life-blood's flowing tide ? O Ronald, must thou helpless lie. Exposed iDeneath th' unpitying sky ? Were earth's whole surface mine, Pd freely give th' extended space, Beneath one sheltering roof to place That gallant head of thine !" The tear his glistening eye confessed Shamed not his helmet's lofty crest. . XII. Once more that wild in moonlight grey, His anxious glances scan, Yet naught is there which can bewray The near abode of man. He only sees the glittering stream, That sports and dances in the beam, Hears but the loitering waters play Among the rocks with fond delay. While on its banks the olive trees Sigh to the whispers of the breeze. — ■ 12 THE CONVENT BELL. XIII. Whence came that deep and startling sound So sudden, clear, and strong. Which from the craggy rocks around A thousand caves prolong ? " It is — it is a Convent Bell ?" And up the mountain side, Fitz-Arthur started from the dell, With quick and eager stride. And followed through the tangled ground The guidance of that welcome sound. Onward he presses his trackless way, Along the steep ascent, Where scattered rocks opposing lay, From the dark mountain rent ; But each rude bulwark lightly passed, His venturous step is fixed at last On such commanding height, That every object placed below The precipice's frowning brow, Is spread before his sight. XIV. Down from his dizzy post he bends A glance of eager hope, To where the peaceful vale extends, Beyond that mountain's slope. Unbroken, save by rocks that lay. Hurled downward by the tempest's sway, On whose fantastic shapes the beam Casts with full force its radiant stream. And shows in mingled light and gloom. The ruined tower, the sculptured tomb ; THE CONVENT BELL. 13 With all the forms that fancy brings To people her ideal reign, When night her mystic mantle flings O'er the dim groves and shadowy plain. The glen is open to the right, And thither tends his eager sight : There in the bright unclouded ray, The silver stream pursues its way. And winds along through orange bowers, Whose golden fruit and pearly flowers, Breathe their rich perfumed sigh, And shine amid the foliaged shade. Like heaven's bright host of stars displayed On evening's purple sky. There blooms, remote from rude alarms, The signal of the Patriarch's Dove, And myrtles form with bending arms A bower might grace the Queen of Love ; While with their depth of green entwines The lighter hue of clustering vines. And far remote, and towering high, The dark Sierra meets the sky. Forming, with wild majestic screen, A giant barrier to the scene. Where yet no human step intrudes, To break its awful solitudes. XV. But hark I the welcome bell he hears, Resounding from below ; Down to the left a fane appears, Which bowered in trees its front appears, White as the driven snow. 3 14 THE CONVENT BELL. Blithely the glad Fitz-Arthur blest The holy seat of pious rest, As springing toward the sacred ground, A little beaten track he found, And reached the outer gate ; And when the porter's bell he plies, His panting breath will scarce suffice His errand to relate. XVI. — " A weary march, a wounded friend, No Leech his skilful aid to lend. No hospitable roof in view " The porter to the fane withdrew, To move the Lady Abbess' ruth, For succor to the stranger youth, And soon within the wicket grate, Fitz-Arthur might espy, A holy Friar, whose solemn gait And shading cowl bespoke his state. Priest of the Sanctuary. He doffs his helm with courteous grace. And to the Father bends. Then seeks with wistful glance to trace What hope his suit attends ; While in persuasive accents dressed. The tale of Ronald's fate Ends with a prayer to grant him rest Within that holy gate. XVIL — " Stranger ! this consecrated pile Safe from the sacrilegious foe, THE CONVENT BELL. 15 Our Country freed from bondage vile, The dawn of Peace and Plenty's smile, To thy protecting arms we owe ; And shall St. Clara's gates be closed Against our brave Allies, Wounded and tired, and all exposed Beneath the midnight skies ? Forbid it. Heaven ! A litter straight — Torches ! — and open wide the gate — Now, warrior, wilt thou lead these men Down yonder path ? there lies the glen : Meantime will I, with needful care, Due succor for thy friend prepare, A lodging for thy train : — No time for thanks, — nay, haste away, Brave Ronald feels thy long delay ; — We soon shall meet again." — CANTO II. I. When Ronald ope'd his eyes on day, The fever's rage had passed away. And though exhausted, faint and weak. Well could his smiling looks bespeak Surprise and gratitude. When in the good Confessor's hand. That touched his own with gesture bland. The heahng draught he viewed ; And saw his kind Fitz-Arthur bend, In triumph o'er his rescued friend. 16 THE CONVENT BELL. For when they bore their cherished freight, Last evening to the convent gate, Insensible he lay ; So dark and dead his slumber seemed, That for a while Fitz- Arthur deenaed The soul had passed away. II. Few words the passing scene explain, " And now," Bernardo said, " The Lady Abbess does ordain. That here a captive you remain. Till medicine's potent aid, Shall give you strength, again to wield Your heaven-sent arms in victory's field. By easy march, your little band May muster to the chief's command, Long ere he moves again. And you, my gallant Sir, to tend With me upon your wounded friend, May yet awhile remain ; Your men shall have a trusty guide, While a fleet messenger shall ride, And to the British camp repair. Due tidings of your state to bear." — IIL Fitz-Arthur, voluble and gay. Now rattled thoughtlessly away By smiling Ronald's side ; His ramble through the moonlight glade, And the Confessor's ready aid, A copious theme supplied. THE CONVENT BELL. 17 And ardently he longed to pry- Within the Convent's cells, And feast his bold unhallowed eye, Where in St. Clara's sanctuary, Each veil-clad votaress dwells. He railed against the bigot sway That doomed them to despair. And mused if they were old and grey, Or gentle, young, and fair ; And vowed it was his high resolve These doubts by force or fraud to solve. IV. As evening closed Bernardo came, With greeting in the Abbess' name, — " She longs to hear the tale. From whence your wandering footsteps strayed, To shelter in the lonely shade Of this sequestered vale : And of Britannia's victor host, Whose daring step so lately crossed Her native Douro's stream, And sooth to say she reckons most On that inspiring theme ; And when your pious steps incline To seek our house of prayer. And view St. Clara's holy shrine. She bids me guide you there." — V. A purer heart, a kinder soul. Ne'er dwelt beneath the monkish cowl ; Much had he read, and studied long, And sighed for the misguided throng 18 THE CONVEIST BELL. Who follow some unworthy prize His pious wisdom could despise. Peaceful and mild, and innocent, His philosophic days were spent ; St. Clara's grace to him had given To lead her sister-train to heaven. But no high pride of power or place Sate in his smooth brow's ample space ; In his blue eye, of pensive thought, The ray of love and mercy shone, Prompt to excuse a brother's fault, But never lenient to his own. VI. Another day is come and gone, — The setting sun's effulgence shone. Where through the latticed casement hung The richly clustering vine. And the clear vesper-bell has rung, Its summons to the shrine. His solemn pace Bernardo bends To the huge iron gate. While on his step the following friends In expectation wait. The well-paved court is quickly passed, . Within whose spacious square. The fountain's crystal waters cast Refreshment on the air. The folding gate is open thrown, And a long corridor of stone Ends in the massy doors, which bound The chapel's consecrated ground. THE CONVENT BELL. 19 The beams of countless tapers play On the arched roof and fretwork gay ; — St. Clara's shrine the centre space In lofty pomp supplies, While numerous altars round the place In less proportion rise ; The Priest is there in vestment white To minister the sacred rite. VII. Foremost within the right-hand grate, The Abbess sits in silent state, And by her side an ancient race, The veteran nuns of eldest place : Farther and more retired from view, Are those whose fatal vows are new, Each in her separate stall ; And yonder small light forms declare, Young novices and boarders there, Await the holy call. A pitying glance and heart-breathed sigh The gallant strangers gave. For sad it was to British eye To see such flowerets droop and die Within a living grave : They thought upon their native Isles, Where beauty's warm endearing smiles Should welcome home the brave. VIII. But every reasoning power was bound Within a magic spell. When the rich choral strains resound From that secluded cell ; 20 THE CONVENT BELL. Unnumbered voices, svreet and clear, Burst forth upon the raptured ear : And one there was among the rest, That thrilled through either listener's breast,- It came not loud nor sirong, But with a soft seraphic tone, A melting sweetness all its own, It would the note prolong ; Sometimes in holy ecstacy It pealed the Hallelujah high : Then sunk to such low dying fall As might beseem the sinner's call. And prayer to be forgiven ; Then rose again, as though in air An angel winged her way, to bear The rescued soul to heaven. IX. With eager eye and throbbing breast, To view the chantress Ronald pressed, For every note those lips had poured Found in his soul its kindred chord ; He looked in vain — the gentle choir That moment from the grate retire, And leave in Ronald's heart alone The (!cho of that heavenly tone. X. Bernardo's evening office o'er. They left the chapel's closing door. " What sweet celestial voices grace," Fitz- Arthur cried, ^' your vestal race t It were a foolish risque to wage, If longer I should stay ; THE CONVENT BELL 21 There is a bird In yonder cage, Might sing my heart away." — The good Confessor sadly smiled, *' It was St. Clara's darling child, The flower of all her train, From whose pure lips so meek and mild Arose that vesper strain." " And did that witching songstress dwell From childhood in the cloistered cell .'"' — Bernardo shook his head and sighed, " Such was her destined fate ; In infant beauty's earliest pride, A father willed that gem to hide Within the holy grate, Where from the false world's sinful lure She dwelt in sacred peace secure. — XI. " Ye British warriors, well ye know How erst our dark unpitying foe In the fierce rage of conquest came. And dealt round havoc, blood, and flame. One tide of terror rolled o'er all. And from the convent's sheltering wall The helpless nuns were driven, — To shun a fate more horrible Than holy lips may bear to tell. They braved the storms of heaven, And wandered houseless, shelterless, In all the anguish of distress. XII. " The Convent where Maria dwelt The fierce assassins' fury felt ; ^ THE CONVENT BELL. Scarcely the nuns could speed their flight, Ere the Destroyers came, And their wild path was rendered bright By their own dwelling's flame. Maria's native palace stood Two leagues beyond a spreading wood, And to that sheltering fane Their steps in trembling haste they bent. Nor heeded as they onward went The wind and driving rain. All torn with thorns, and galling stones, Maria led the weary ones That night to her paternal hall ; They came — one aged man they found, Whose faltpring lips could scarcely sound The tidings of his master's fall. XIII. " Too bitter were the task to tell, What toils that hapless maid befel. Until in this sequestered dell A safe retreat was given ; And ye have heard how saintly swell Her notes of praise to Heaven. Her father's fall by foes betrayed, The horrors of that frantic flight. Have cast a sad and mournful shade O'er her pure spirit's native light j But 'mid Religion's holy balm Has soothed it to a pensive calm ; And Oh ! within this sheltering wall, So may her days glide by, Till Heaven shall in its mercy call An angel to the sky !" — THE CONVENT BELL. 23 XIV. His hands upon his breast he crossed, And in the mental prayer was lost. The fire was bright in Ronald's eye, The glow was on his cheek, And his clenched hand spontaneously Seemed his good sword to seek. " Aye, let us meet," Fitz- Arthur cried, " Once more these dogs of hell, And thou and I, still side by side, A vengeful tale will tell !" Bernardo raised his pensive head. And the stern frown beheld, The lightning glance that proudly said Your foemen shall be quelled. Kindly he grasped their offered hands,-— " Conquest already crowns your toil,—* The blood of those invading bands Has streamed upon our ravaged soil ; Well have ye fought, and freely bled, Be Lusia's blessing on your head!" XV. Another morning dawns " Arise ! Ronald unclose those drowsy eyes : The Abbess in her chair of state Will shortly our approaches wait ; Come, invocate the Graces' aid, — For many a day is gone, Since on our forms, in gay parade, Fair ladies' glances shone. Our brows have felt the hand of care. Our coats are somewhat worse for weari 24 THE CONVENT BELL. But when our knightly tale is told, They'll say we're gallants true and bold."- XVI. Silent and sad his friend arose From short and unrefreshing rest. The tale of fair Maria's woes Was heavy on his breast ; That voice so soft and so resigned Still floated on his ear, As to the half-awakened mind Our morniug dreams appear. Yet could he not but smile to view His comrade's earnest face. Brightening his garments' faded hue, Pluming his war-worn casque anew, The long-expected interview In martial pomp to grace. His short crisp locks of chestnut brown Shade his unruffled brow, Unconscious of the surly frown. Or self-reproving glow : His tall and well-proportioned form The sculptor's art might grace. And the heart's glow, sincere and warm, Was beaming o'er his face : An arch and animated smile His hps would oft divide, And never did the word of guile From their frank portals glide. XVII. Of riper years, and manlier prime, Stood Ronald ; — his dark pensive eye THE CONVENT BELL. 25 Spoke the high soul, the thought suhlime, That dwelt on immortality. The scholar's lore, and sober sense, Mingled with mild benevolence, And all that polished grace can give, In those expressive features live. His light and active form combines Strength, dignity, and ease, And the bold martial spirit shines, Though gentleness the fire refines. Mild as the summer breeze. — XVIII. Bernardo at the appointed hour Attends them to the gate, Where throned in plenitude of power The Abbess holds her state. The crucifix and holy bead Are glittering at her side, And in her steadfast look they read A trait of conscious pride, — But naught repulsive or severe Lours, as her grateful guests dravi^ near Ranged on their lowly forms around, With modest glance that seeks the ground., The gentle nuns are sesn ; And many a sparkling eye was there, And many a cheek of beauty rare. With soft and graceful mien : Their robes and veils of spotless white Descend in folds of waving light, The welcome given, with gracious smile, The Abbess craves a boon,— 26 THE CONVENT BELL. " Would but their brave Allies beguile The sultry hour of noon, With tidings of the recent fight, That quelled proud Gaul's detested might?'' Back she has thrown the shading veil, While thus they tell the glorious tale. CANTO III. VICTORY OF THE DOURO. I. RONALD. " Tejo's emancipated stream Beheld our burnished weapons gleam, Nor yet their dazzling blades display The sanguine dye of battle fray, Though the succeeding leagues disclose The path of our remorseless foes. The ravaged field, the trampled vine, The smoking hut, their step declare, With many a dark and fearful sign That murder's criiason hand was there. In horror, hunger, nakedness. The remnant from their coverts crept. And prayed the Lord our arms to bless, While franticly they wept O'er the retrieveless scene of spoil, The wreck of their industrious toil. THE CONVENT BELL. 27 II. " I cannot speak, holy Dame ! How fiercely blazed th' indignant flame In every heart with pity wrung, While ' Vengeance' burst from every tongue I Impatient at the long delay. And burning for the fight, Northward we urged our threatening way, Till Vonga's rising banks display The spirit-cheering sight ; For there in soaring pride arose The eagles of our ruthless foes. How brightly then in every eye Gleamed the sure hope of victory ! And bright o'er all, resplendent shone Our Wellesley's piercing glance, When in his conquest-boding tone He bade our ranks advance. III. " As bloodhounds who have tracked their prej Through the wild wood's uncertain way, When lo ! before their glaring eyes, Th' exhausted foe more faintly flies, — Rises each bristling hair — they strain Headlong across the open plain, And deem their fangs already dyed In the lost murderer's crimson tide : So eager and so fierce we stand. So dart we at the chief's command, Routed at every point, they yield Before our desperate way, And masters of the chosen field, We wait th' approaching day 28 THE CONVENT BELL. That promises a sterner fight, Vengeance more full, and fame more bright. IV. ** Reluctantly the morn arose, To chase that glowing dream, And show our dark and crafty foes Beyond the Douro's stream. The floating path from strand to strand Their cautious care had riven, And far from either hostile band The broken fragments driven. Abrupt and high the banks appear, Within whose narrow space Old Douro holds, in swift career, His never-ceasing race. Such mighty bonds on either side As Nature's careful hand supplied To curb the torrent's force, Alone could chain the rapid tide, And check its hurrying course. A yellow tinge the waters wear As rushing on their way. From the imprisoning banks they tear The scanty soil and clay, A weary task the boatman plies. Against th' opposing stream, — Or with the favoring current flies. Swift as the passing dream ; But now each straggling boat they moor, Securely to the farther shore : No practicable ford extends O'er the rude gulf between, THE CONVENT BELL. 29 Save the wild rocks Avintas lends, — Too distant from the scene ! — Less sullenly the tiger growls OVr his contested food, 'Reft of her young, less fiercely scowls The empress of the wood, Than our indignant warriors eyed, And cursed, the intercepting tide. But Wellesley's ardent mind the while Teemed with the glorious plan, — Nor mightiest force, nor craftiest guile, Can foil that wond'rous man : He bids the impatient band divide, — One part along the river's side Must seek Avintas' ford. The rest remain, their chance abide, And wait his leading word. V. " Hark ! that glad shout ! — with daring hand) The gallant Lusians from the strand Two ample boats unm^oor, Turn, gracious Heaven, the balls aside That shower around, while through the tide They struggle for the shore ! Safely they cross, and safely reach Our shouting comrades on the beach ; And freighted to. the full, each boat Once more is on the stream afloat, While ranged upon the strand. Our thundering guns their volley send, And with repeated roar defend The dauntless little band. 3* 80 THE CONVENT BELL. VI. *^ Lost in the fixed astonished gaze Of stupid wonder and amaze, — Or scorning the inferior force, No foe opposed their daring course ; Till from a ruined building nigh, Brave Paget sends defiance high To their o'erwhelming power ; Then, starting from their fatal trance, They bid a numerous force advance, And tear us from the tower. VII. " It was a College Hall that gave This timely shelter to the brave, And there defensively they form. And coolly 'bide the coming storm. It comes, in deep compacted cloud :— It bursts with detonation loud, And streams upon the battered walls. Through suiphurous flash, a shower of balls ; But as our Albion ','=! caverned rock Responds the thunder's roar. And dashes, with indignant shock, The billows from her shore. So truly we return the knell. So firmly the advance repel. They spring to the surrounding wall, And on the marble-paved hall The well-aimed bullets ring. While on succeeding hosts they call. Their spreading lines to bring. THE CONVENT BELL. 31 Hemmed by the hot assailants round, And pierced by many a smarting wound, At desperate bay v/e stand, — But not one fainting heart is found, Nor one exhausted hand. VIII. " Now, echoing loud, the British cheer Proclaims a timely succor near. As our bold bands from yonder side The crimsoned bank attain. And bid the enclosing force divide, While spreads the combat deep and wide, O'er the surrounding plain. Aloft our English banners fly. Our battle shout ascends the sky ; From the fierce charge of pointed steel Their awed battalions backward reel, Their steady columns bend, And Soult already meditates The refuge that Oporto's gates Reluctantly might lend ; When lo ! we point the blood-stained swore}, Where hastening from Avintas' ford Appears a phalanx bright. His wavering flank prepared to turn, And greet with salutation stern, His intercepted flight !" IX. riTZ-ARTHUR. — " Dripping we came," Fitz-Arthur cried, '* For quickly dashed we through the tide, Your gallant deeds to crown,— 32 THE CONVENT BELL. And well our moistened garments dried, In chasing through the town. Ill might the startled Frenchman wait To close Oporto's royal gate, While we his flying rearward greet, And charge them on from street to street ; With headlong force and thundering shout We rushed upon the flying rout, And drove them, — till the pitying night Cast her dark mantle o'er their flight. X. " Ronald, within the College walls, Had haply 'scaped the murderous balls. And sallying forth, he rushed amam The hot pursuit to aid. And foremost of the victor train, He waved his flashing blade ; Till pressing on a well-armed band, They turned, and made a stubborn stand. — 'Twas there my gallant friend 1 found Senseless upon the reeking ground." — XI. He ceased — and now the Abbess rose, To heaven her tearful look she throws, " My Daughters," she exclaims, " draw nigh^ Lo ! in our favored dwelling stand Two heroes of that godlike band Who brought us life and liberty ! Our shrines from sacrilegious gaze, Our walls from desolation's blaze, Our bosoms from the sword, THE CONVENT BELL. 33 These have they saved, our frequent praise Hath risen to the Lord, And here before the face of heaven, Our grateful thanks to them be given." — Then many a fair hand clasped on high Implored a blessing from the sky ; So late by bashfulness subdued. The eye now beamed with gratitude, And shone with lustre, bright and chaste, On each deliverer's form. Like the returning moon-beam, cast On barks that gallantly have passed The perils of the storm. xn. — " O long may Heaven's approving smile Beam on the lovely sea-girt Isle !" (And Ronald's bounding heart has flown To greet that well-remembered tone) " Like her majestic oak she stands. And spreads her shade o'er other lands, While her protecting arms extend A refuge for the poor. And virtue, strength, and beauty blend Her empire to secure. So said my martyred sire, who long Strayed her enchanting scenes among.*' — XIII. — " Lady, the touch was warm and true That gave that picture to thy view : — Deep in the trackless ocean wave, Has nature placed Britannia's throne, 4 THE CONVENT BELL. And led the circling tides to lave Her fortress wall of pearly stone ; In isolated might she stands, Girt by her guardian ocean bands. Trenriendous as her frovvning rock, Ruin and w^reck assail her foes, Her barriers brave the rudest shock. Her woodlands smile in sweet repose : There herds, and flocks, and golden grain, Diversify the verdant plain ; There towers that monarch oak, and shades With patriarchal arms the glades ; While many a peaceful cottage shines Through wreaths of fragrant eglantines The ivy-mantled wall displays The majesty of other days, — Unscathed by force, unharmed by wrong, Time gently shakes the mouldering pile, And tells how ages roll along Unbroken in that favored Isle." — XIV. Bernardo ! thou hast sought a boon. And gained the fatal gift too soon From that indulgent dame : And daily at the convent grate Those dangerous guests of thine may wait, The social hour to claim. Dost thou not mark the mantling blush, That lightens o'er Maria's cheek. Nor rapture's corresponding flush On Ronald's kindling visage speak ^ Where was thy ever-watching heed ? Spell-bound thyself, thou didst not read > THE CONVENT BELL. 35 What rapid clouds and sunbeams chase Alternate o'er her varying face, While in attention rapt, she hung On every accent of his tongue. Thou saw'st not that soul-speaking eye, Heard 'st not the palpitating breath, That hailed in speechless ecstacy Th' avengers of her father's death. Could not thy long observant age. Nor lore of thy loved classic page. Tell thee that wo the bosom leaves Too prone to soft affection's power. Even as the dew-steeped grass receives Th' impression of the falling flower ? — O ! can those grated bars repel Love's monarch from the holy cell ? His power is throned within the eye, His chariot is the viewless sigh, He sports with vows, disarms the brave, And prizes most th' unwilling slave. Alas ! how impotent and frail The barrier of the vestal's veil. Against the tyrant's fraudful guile. Who, couched in friendship's artless smile, Unmarked can pass the strong defence Of piety and innocence, Then fix the everlasting dart. And lord it o'er the vanquished heiart ! What boots it that yon warrior's mind Is pure as brave, and true as kind ? — He cannot crush the potent spell. Destined the firmest soul to quell, Nor ardent and impetuous youth Gainst passioA balance sober truth* 36 THE CONVENT BELL. Beauteous and fair Love's roses grow, And fragrant is the breath they breathe, — Would but some gentle spirit show, In pity of the latent wo, The thorns that lurk beneath ! CANTO IV. I. O Sympathy ! thy witching power. From whence our dearest comforts flow, Can soothe misfortune's darkest hour, Or brim the cup of human wo. What words shall tell his misery To whom the fatal pang is known, To read in the congenial eye A heart that must not be his own ! Fancy awhile may seize the rein, And bear him o'er her wide domain, And plant his ardent eyes to blelfe, The radiant bowers of happiness ; But to destroy the fairy scene, Cold Duty lifts her wand between. And bids an awful barrier swell. Impervious, insurmountable ; While the stern monitor within In thunder tells him it were sin, And frail mortality will strive To keep deceitful hope alive, THE CONVENT BELL. 37 Against the "will of fate, Till to one gloonriy thought resigned, The once well-regulated mind Yields in the vain debate, And lost in helpless, hopeless care, Sinks a sad victim to despair. II. Tall was Maria's form, it rose Majestic o'er the rest, — A holy peace, a calm repose, Her downcast eye expressed. Through the long lash that fringed it roundj A frequent path the tear had found, And her wan cheek in pensive grace Too well portrayed its recent trace. The ringlet that unconscious strayed From her conjfining veil. Contrasted with its deep dark shade That cheek so fair and pale. The arms that crossed her gentle breast Hushed the rebellious sigh to rest, — And when her meek and quiet eye Was lifted to her native sky, She seemed some gracious form divine, Portrayed in chiselled stone. If sculptor's hands could e'er combine Patience and Faith in one. III. Reared in a Convent's peaceful cell, She knew not the tempestuous swell Of rapture, disappointment, strife, That heaves the troubled waves of life : 4 38 THE CONVENT BELL. Yet in her bosom dormant lie The sparks that tender sympathy May brighten to a flame. Could she on one true heart but rest The hopes and sorrows of her breast, In holy friendship's name : So thought she oft, but never yet That kind congenial heart had met, Though in the Convent's virgin train, Were found the giddy, light, and vain. The bigot harsh, the proud austere, Mixed with the gentle and sincere. The timid and the proud, — Yet not one perfect sister-mind. So pure, so steadfast, and refined, She found among the crowd. But since St. Ciara's shrine had given A refuge of repose, Bernardo led her mind to heaven, To consecrate her woes. She loved her grateful voice to raise Amid the choral notes of praise. And loved to offer when alone Her soul before her Maker's throne ; Dearly she prized the pensive hour. Passed in the garden's silent bower, — The breeze of heaven that loved to play Upon the mourner's cheek. Seemed, as it dried the tear away, Of hope and peace to speak : It speaks of Him whose mercy dwells On all His hands have made, And bids the heart where sorrow swells Repose on Him for aid THE CONVENT BELL. 39 To every race of mortal kind, On angel wings his care is borne, Who tempers ev'n the northern wind. In pity to the lamb new shorn : — O never yet the fleece was rent From lamb more meek and innocent !— IV. And such to Ronald's pitying eye The helpless maid appears. He longed to soothe the rising sigh. And with a brother's sympathy To dry the falling tears. He brooded o'er the tender theme. Till it became his nightly dream, — Unwelcome was the glance of day That chased the visioned bliss away. The veil — the awful vow — would rise Abrupt to his averted eyes, But he would chide the start that came. And say 'twas friendship's holiest flame : Then seek the stern repelling grate, Maria's pensive step to wait, And draw, with gentle art refined. The pure thoughts from her spotless mind. Her word, her look, her very tone Seemed but the echo of his own. For the same master-spring controls Each impulse of their kindred souls. And when he hears the tolling hour, That bids his lingering step depart, He goes, in solitude to pour The treacherous balsam on his heart, And shrinks from friendship's solace, given To wo-worn man by bounteous Heaven. 40 THE CONVENT BELL. Fitz- Arthur marked th' unwonted cloud, That spoke an inward storm. And wrapped in uncongenial shroud That spirit once so warm : He saw the mantling glow arise, The sparkling rapture in his eyes, When to the grated iron screen The Nun's advancing step was seen. He read his heart, and deeply grieved To find that gallant heart deceived By fancy's idle power ; And longed to see the spell unbound By the inspiring bugle-sound, In battle's rousing hour. With distant hint, and cautious speech, He strove the bosom's wound to reach ; But welcome cold could Ronald's mind For truth's unflattering lesson find, For conscience said, an earthly flame Was masked by friendship's specious name. He dreaded lest Fitz-Arthur's eye The cherished phantom might espy. And scare, with reason's deep-toned knell, The forms of fancy's dreaming spell. So inconsistent still is love ! He writhes beneath a piercing smart, Yet shuns the hand that would remove With pious care the rankling dart. VI. Unscathed by love's insidious power, Fitz-Arthur passed the cheerful hour, THE CONVENT BELL. 4? And in the sportive argument, Would oft the heedless sally vent, That won the ready smile. Or the soft voice and plaintive lute, Would vie with his harmonious flute, The moments to beguile. VII. A noble maid from royal Spain, Had lately graced St. Clara's fane. And none the lofty note could swell, Like the Castilian Isabel. Her kinsmen's arms were famed afar In the fierce desultory war. That proved to the invaders' might, More wasting than the practised fight. High on their native mountains' breast, Their dwellings, like the eagle's nest, Brave the bewildered foe, — And like the lightning's flash they came, To dart destruction's sudden flame, On the dark host below ; Then parting in the deserts nigh. Their various paths they hold, And singly the pursuit defy, IntangilDle as bold. VIII. The triumphs of her kindred race Beamed o'er the nun's majestic face ; The theme her nut-brown cheek has dyed In the rich glow of patriot pride, 4* 42 THE CONVENT BELL. While from her loved guitar she draws In tasteful skill the tone, And siiigs the wild Guerilla wars With spirit all her own. IX. ISABEL'S SONG. The Guerilla. Is it the voice of the midnight breeze, That comes by fits through the gloomy trees ^ Was it the light of the mountain stream That flashed but now to the pale moon-beam ? And can the dash of that slender wave Echo so loud from the rocky cave ! — Those sounds are the prelude to deadly fray Poniard and pistol reflect the ray ; That echo tells where the fiery steed Impatiently stamps, and would fain be freed, While the shadows of that lone cave conceal The bravest and best of proud Castile. Stern Juan throws back his ebon loclcs — *^ They have bade us cower in our native rocks ! We cower but to rise, like the feathered king, To a loftier flight on a bolder wing ; Their dearest blood shall our talons stain. When we scream in their ears, "Kevenge for Spain !" Sad swelled the sigh in Alonzo's breast, And mournfully drooped his plumed crest : THE CONVENT BELL. 43 " Too well they have guarded the conquered walls, And revel secure in our ancient halls ; My brother's daughter and youthful heir Are held in unwilling hostage there." — " Mine be the task" — cried the dark-eyed chief— " Our deeds must be sudden, our words be brief; Hold ambush close in the rocky dell, And look to hear more by the vesper bell : I trust to my Saint, and my well-tried sword And the pass of the undiscovered ford." — " Yet think on the fearful odds, and pause." — — " I think on our wrongs, and our Country's cause ! Ere the children shall mourn in captivity, I will set my life on a desperate die, My name and my purpose at once reveal, And trust to the honor of high Castile.— He has mounted his steed, and the shades of night Have closed his path on his comrades' sight ; The moon is withdrawing her feeble ray. And the chiefs are gone on their silent way, And hope to deal on the battle plain, To Gallia wo, and revenge for Spain. — X. Song continued. The guns are silenced — the broken swords Are wrenched from the hands of their lifeless lords, And the batteries screen, with gloomy frown, The gates of the newly vanquished town. 44 THE COIN VENT BELL. While her lofty towers are echoing high, To the notes of unhallowed revelry. Three sides are guarded, but safe they deem The fourth that is laved by the spreading stream ; — They knew not the ford, whose winding way Brave Juan had traced ere the dawn of day, Nor dreamed that by those neglected guns Lurked the boldest of Spain's unconquered sons. He lay till about the vesper hour, When the children are led from their prison tower. That the breeze may play, for a niggardly space, To wave the light curl from the guileless face. And kiss off the bitter tear that flows Down cheeks where terror has blanched the rose. ^ne ruffian an ample guard is found^ To lead the babes on their lonely round, Well trained to the gaoler's ruthless part — But Juan's poignard is in his heart 1 — He hath lifted the maid like a willow wand, And the gallant boy has grasped his hand. " Brave Spaniard, haste ! let us quickly flee, To the verge of earth I will follow thee !" They plunge at once in the conscious tide. And safely they reach the farther side, — Unmarked they steal o'er the woody space, And rush to their Uncle's fond embrace. — — " The doves are freed — and the ravenous kite To-morrow shall soar on his latest flight ; Too cheap the conquest — too poor the strife, That cost but one wretch's worthless life. THE CONVENT BELL. 45 Secure the children — the dawning sky 3hall light us to vengeance and victory !" XI. Song continued. Ere night had parted, brave Juan stood On the dliter verge of the friendly wood ;— He rests his sword on the olive bough, And places his trusty steed below, While the shroud of a peasant's poor disguise, Veils his noble form from inquiring eyes. He seeks the walls, where rising loud, Mix the angry tones of the armed crowd ; And hears of the children's mystic flight, And the tiery thret^t of lawless might. That dooms the city to flame and sword, If evening see not the prize restored. In uncouth phrase he tells his tale,' Of a horseman who passed o'er the lonely vale, And close by his courser's side there speed Two slender forms on a lighter steed, And well he deems that the rugged height Perforce must have checked their eager flight. " To arms ! and haste to the mountain's side , This peasant slave shall our footsteps guide : Thou wretch ! remember thy caitiff head Shall vouch for the tale thy lips have said !" — How blithely the proud Castilian strode, As he led them forth on their fatal road ! — 46 THE CONVENT BELL. He has drawn to the wood the unwary bands, He springs to the spot where his charger stands, He vaults, and is fixed on the gallant steed. His blade from its verdant sheath is freed, He has given the spur, and loosened the rein. And shouted aloud, " St. James for Spain !" Bravely they fought, and struggled long, For rage is bold and despair is strong, — But rage and despair in vain engage With vengeful hatred and tenfold rage ; The chargers of Spain their fetlocks dyed In the last opposer's vital tide. The Gaul has collected a mighty force, — But the heroes are gone on their trackless course ; They part like the streams of the Northern light, Yet oft shall those scattered flames unite, And teach the astonished foe to feel The deatii-dealing vengeance of wronged Castile. XII. The cadence of the closing note Still on th' enchanted ear would float, While in the maid's uplifted eye Blazed Juan's soul of pride, And scorn and indignation high Her beauteous lips divide, And her resounding tones inspire With gleams of a prophetic fire. XIII. Thus hour by hour, and day by day, Still glided unperceived away. THE CONVENT BELL. 47 Bernardo all their steps attends, And with his pleasing converse blends The pious and instructive truth, So needful to unthinking youth ; The good old man would fain delay The call that soon must end their stay. ■^—O could he hear the sighs that swell In fair Maria's lonely cell, And view the ineffectual strife. That preys upon her harmless life. His trembling hand the gates would close On the sad partner of her woes. CANTO V. I. How lightly on the quiet breast Close the unruffled wings of sleep ! Bathing the peaceful brow in rest Soft as the dew that violets weep, — While with her poppy garland blending The airy forms of worlds unknown, She leads the willing soul, ascending Through flowery paths to Fancy's throne, And decks the Ethiop form of night In halcyon plumes of azure light. — II. Sleep has a Sister, dark and dread, Who seeks the mourner's tear-stained bed ; 4S THE CONVENT BELL. With sullen scov/1, and raven plume, She deepens midnight's cheerless gloom, * And strews the throbbing temple o'er With bitter rue and hellebore, — And loves the shrinking soul to bear Through wilds of terror and despair ; Snatching from reason's hand the rein, She whirls the giddy wretch afar, Where phantoms, horrible as vain, Throng round the witch's ebon car. Till, panting from the fearful flight, The sufferer wakes to grief and light. , III. No more the balm of tranquil rest Is shed o'er sad Maria's breast. No more the shrine and midnight prayer Her undivided homage share ; One visioned form will hover near. One voice still vibrate on her ear, — And when within her narrow cell, Her hand th' accustomed bead would tell. Still from her murmuring lips will steal. The ceaseless prayer for Ronald's weal. What though her pious mind disowned The interdicted name of Love, Th' usurper in her heart was throned. Nor virtue's self that throne might move ; While she, a lone unsheltered flower. Was withering underneath his power. And that fair cheek was faint and pale, As the meek snow-drop in the vale. With pitying eye Fitz- Arthur viewed The maid by hopeless love subdued, THE CONVENT BELL. 49 And inly vowed by strong reproof His lingering friend to tear, Far from that dark ill-fated roof Of passion and despair. IV. The morning beam was scarce displayed On the wild mountain, when he sought To pass within the fragrant shade, An hour of deep and serious thought ; But in the glen, in mental dream He found his pensive friend reclined, Intent upon the murmuring stream That soothed to rest his feverish mind Roused by the loud advancing tread, He slowly raised his languid head, — '' Fitz-Arthur ! you are soon abroad, To greet the morning's early light :" " Yes, I have viewed my idle sword. And burnished it for future fight ; For truly we shall both be shamed To hear our conquering hero named, If loitering here in sloth and ease, We let the rust our weapons seize : What think you, if to-morrow's ray Behold us on our destined way ?" — His half-averted glances seek * The varying hue of Ronald's cheek. — " I would not, for an empire's power Be absent from the battle hour ; — Yet do the troops with toil o'erspent Repose beneath the sheltering tent, And — doubt not but Bernardo's care Will for our timely march prepare — ■ 5 50 THE CONVENT BELL. Till then" — his martial spirit strove Disdainful 'gainst the tyrant Love. Fitz-Arthur saw the mounting blush, And marked the doM'ncast eyes, He felt resentment's kindling flush Each calmer thought surprise. Nor longer his impetuous soul Could the severe reproach control. With curling lip, and scornful look. He glanced from Ronald to the brook : — " Let the sweet purling stream o'erwhelm Thy warlike garb and useless helm, Methinks a cowl would better grace The outline of that pensive face ; Forsake thy King — eschew thy creed. Embrace the crucifix and bead, DofF that neglected steel ! Let Britain bleed, and Lusia fall. Friar Ronald in his Convent wall No sense of shame will feel. V. " Far better had I seen thee die In yonder midnight glen ! Soldiers had caught thy latest sigh. And ir> an honored grave thou'dst lie. Mourned by thy countrymen. — — I care not for that reddening frown ! — I saved thee not, thy bright renown At woman's feet to lay, To languish for an idle toy. And like a whimpering love-sick boy Sigh thy fond soul away ! — THE CONVENT BELL. 51 A Nun professed !" he sternly smiled, " Why, Ronald, sure the wayward child, Who in the stream shall see The moon's reflection round and fair, And cries to catch the bauble rare, Is but the type of thee : Boldly the urchin might essay, To grasp the warm resplendent ray. Cold recompense was his, And such were thine, if thou should'st try To seize her heart which dwells on high, Among the saints in bliss." VL Resentment flashed in Ronald's eyes— " To me these daring words addressed ! But that my soul may well despise. Boy as thou art, thy taunting jest. This sword thy hasty tongue should teach, To weigh the yet unuttered speech ; — Deem'st thou I bear a heart so base. To shame my Country's warlike race ? As for the life thou bragg'st to save I value not the gift from thee ; Take what thy well-meant succor gave, But check that tongue so bold and free, And cast no more thy gibes on me !" VII. Sternly he spoke, and strode away : — Rage struggled in Fitz-Arthur's breast. But fond affection barred its way, And bade the angry impulse rest. 52 THE CONVENT BELL His noble spirit spurned at fear, But Ronald to his soul was dear : — Then he had probed the treacherous wound Beyond the victim's strength, And grieved that prudence could not bound His words' unguarded length : Wiser he deemed it to retire, Again ere Ronald came, He feared his own indignant ire Might burst in deadly flame ; And thought what wo 'twere his to feel, Destroying where he meant to heal. VIII. But ere he well might turn to go, Ronald with temperate step and slow, Returning met his eye ; Erect he stood in martial grace. And firmly kept his former place, He would not seem to fly. — Their glances meet, as summer beams, Dart forth their bright and transient gleams Through the obtrusive cloud ; And struggle to relume the day, With that accustomed vivid ray, The envious gloom would shroud : Well versed each other's looks to read. Small aid from words those glances need. IX. Ronald spoke first, and mildly said, " Fitz- Arthur, I was wrong. Thy zealous friendship to upbraid In terms so sharp and strong, THE CONVENT BELL, 53 Albeit thy words were harsh and rude, And taxed me with ingratitude, And — what my soul abhors ! My patriot warmth no longer glowed, Although my dearest blood has flowed In my loved Country's cause. Nay, more — thou said'st" his color ro^ And to the ground his glance he throws, " That I, with treacherous art. For my own selfish views would dye With the foul stain of perjury, Yon Maid's unspotted heart. And from her wo-worn soul remove A heavenly for an earthly love. Could such black charge stand unrepelled His heart with strong emotion swelled. " Friend of my soul ! forgive the wrong, My zeal hath blazed too rudely strong. Roughly I seized the fatal dart. That festers in thy gallant heart ; And my unskilful hand hath pressed The shaft more deeply in thy breast." — X. That evening to Fitz- Arthur's hand A courier brought the chiePs command, That he upon the tented plain. Should join his warlike friends again ; But as no march they meditate, Ronald within the Convent gate. May yet the future summons wait. XL The morning's earliest beam surveyed Fitz- Arthur for the march arravAd 54 THE CONVENT BELL. His face in wonted smiles was dressed, But Ronald's f^te disturbed his breast. And when the pious Nuns had given Their matin orisons to Heaven, Pressed round the grate in tears they stand, Contending for the out-stretched hand. That soon in bloody battle field. Again ,the glittering blade must wield. — T'he Abbess with an ardent prayer Commends him to th' Almighty care, — In gentle accents then, While her kind cheek with dew is wet, She prays him never to forget The Convent in the glen. Laden with blessings, prayers, and gifts, He tells them, in the next bold fray His sword shall their good deeds repay. His holy hands Bernardo spread. Above the warrior's bending head. While scarce his quivering lip can say The fervent " Benedicite !" XIT. Ronald the warm injunction gives. To warn him of the earliest move ; For if to that good day he lives. His sword his steadfast faith shall prove. With gentle hint, and mild disguise- His friend the wholesome counsel plies ; And now they, reach the outward glen, — — " Soon may we meet as fighting men ! Part we in this eventful deli ; — Dear Ronald, guard thy heart — farewell P' THE CONVENT BELL. 65 XIII. Throughout St. Clara's holy bounds, The silence of dejection hung, The cheerful note no more resounds, The voice is mute, the lyre unstrung ; Even Isabel's resplendent eye. Now rolled in listless vacancy ; Maria felt the sad farewell. As presage of a warning knell. And shuddered, as the deadly chill Stole o'er her frame with painful thrill. Bernardo strove, but strove in vain. To wake the cheerful smile again ; — The pensive Nuns too keenly viewed The gloom of hopeless solitude. XIV. — ! let me earth's wide surface tread, With weary step, unsheltered head, And let my feeble frame sustain The stormy terrors of the main ; An endless pilgrimage to roam. From native land and peaceful home, With never-ceasing care to tend The steps of one beloved friend ! And I will greet, with ready smile, The forms of peril, want, and toil, So on my lip may never dwell That dreary sound — the long Farewell ! That blighter of one every joy. That canker, formed but to destroy The rose that sparingly adorns This cloudy wilderness of thorns. ) THE CONVENT BELL. — Oh, heavily its accents swell ! Even from th' unwilling, short, good night To the last deep and hollow knell. O'er those the grave's relentless cell Hath closed for ever from her sight ! XV. While many a vestal sigh is borne On the soft breezes of the morn, And prayers to patron Saints are told For the young warrior true and bold, — Cheerly he winds his way ; The cloud upon his spirits light, Dispersed like lingering shades of night ' Before the rising day. High deeds of might and wreaths of fame Before his brightening fancy came ; — Proud Gaul subdued, Iberia freed. An honored name, and laurelled meed, Supplied a long and flattering dream, — And home, dear home, still crowned the theme For there were hearts in Britain's Isle, That glowed but in his magic smile, Parents, whose only pride and joy Was centred in that gallant boy, And friends, whose anxious breasts would burn In rapture at his safe return. XVI. How throbbed his bosom when afar He saw the radiant lines of war ! And to the playful breeze unfurled The glorious flag that awed the world THE CONVENT BELL. 57 While notes of preparation rise, And he — the hand, the eye, the soul, Wellesley — the mighty plan supplies. That moves and regulates the whole. Fitz- Arthur hears the high design Is ripening for the fray ; Cuesta will soon his force combine With Albion's proud array ; And high Madrid her head shall rear, When their united bands appear. XVII. Ronald has heard the martial call, That roused him from inglorious thrall, — Once more his eye is beaming bright With all the warrior's stern delight ; Nor treacherous ilff^& himself may claim Another day's oeMy, To-morrow to the field of fame He speeds his hasty way. But grief can dim that sparkling eye, And wring his soul with agony. And treble all his former woes, As to his purpose firm and true. With stealing step, alone he goes, To take a long, a last adieu ! 58 THE CONVENT BELL. CANTO VI. I. Where is the kind considerate art That veiled the pangs of Ronald s heart ? Alas ! the fearful parting hour Has torn the feeble shroud aside, Nor longer has the sufferer power His bosom's agony to hide ; But every sound his lips express Is love's despairing bitterness. II. As vainly vs^ould the maid|«ontrol The wild emotions of her^oul, Till her distracted glances fell On the low shrine that graced the cell,- Then on the cross her hand she laid, " The will of God must be obeyed ! In earliest years this form was given. To be th' affianced bride of Heaven, — And what avails it now to say, That had I drawn the vital air Where liberty delights to stray, In yonder Isle, so sweet and fair, — Aye, had I filled her regal throne. Myself, my crown, were thine alone : Or happier in some cottage bower. To share with thee the peaceful hour. To tend our white flocks on the plain, To watch the autumn's ripening grain, THE CONVENT BELL. 69 Around our little porch to twine The roses and the eglantine, To bid our simple garden bloom, And wander in the solemn shade, Where through the oak-tree's pleasing gloom The zephyr with the moon-beam played ; The nightingale with vesper song Had closed in peaceful rest our eyes, And the lark's matin clear and strong. Pierced the thatched roof, and bade us rise : Adown life's current, side by side, Methinks our barks would smoothly glide." — — The faltering voice her heart betrayed, She grasped the cross, and firmer said, " The will of God must be obeyed ! — And when 'gainst His o'erruling power Our wayward wills would seek to rise, That is the best, the holiest hour For most accepted sacrifice ; 'Tis then we emulate the Son — — Oh Father ! may thy will be done ! Since thou hast deemed me meet to share The vestal's joys, the life of prayer, Shall my ungrateful heart rebel. Impatient of the sheltering cell ? No — ever at thy sacred shrine O ! let me yield my will to thine !" Her hands are clasped, and raised her eye, In patient, meek humility, — But the faint hectic on her cheek, Her pale and quivering lip, bespeak What deep and strong emotion pressed For empire in her lab 'ring breast. 60 THE CONVENT BELL. While closer still her fevered grasp The crucifix essayed to clasp, As if within its holy power Dwelt the sole balm for that sad hour. III. Again she bends her pitying glance On him who lost in sullen trance, Was brooding o'er their hopeless fate ; One hand upon his brow was spread. As if to calm his throbbing head, The other grasped the fatal grate. A low and scarcely uttered groan Forced passage for his stifled breath, Then starting, and in hollow tone, " Maria ! wilt thou work my death ? Break these accursed bands, and fly The hated den of bigotry ! Mistaken maid ! would righteous Heaven That soul of sympathy have given To moulder in a living tomb, Unblessed by one congenial heart, To shut thee from creation's bloom ? — 'Twas superstition's baneful art ! — Burst the dark chain and fly with me To pure and pious liberty ; And every joy that Isle can give Shall smile upon thy spotless life, Too blest for thee alone to live, My treasured love, my cherished wife."- IV. With altered look, and brow severe, — " Ronald," she said, " I may not hear Our holy faith reviled ; THE CONVENT BELL. 61 Nor in St. Clara's blessed fane, Must thy rash lips essay to stain The virtue of her child. The awful vow is registered, In the bright record kept on high, And my insulted ear has heard The proffered boon of perjury !" Abashed before her eyes' keen rays, To earth was sunk his ardent gaze, Then raised to heaven in frantic rage, — ^' My death shall soon thy wrath assuage ! Yes, one more onset with the foe That sought thy Country's overthrow. And this detested head laid low, Shall find a bloody grave, And thou may'st one kind tear bestow On him thou would'st not save !" V. — " I would not save ! Oh witness Heaven, One boon to ray entreaty given Should shield thee in the deadly strife. Thy ransom, poor Maria's life." The startling tear, the bursting sob Bespoke her bosom's anguished throb. While love, despair, and virtuous shame, In following tides of crimson came O'er his flushed brow and burning frame. " Forgive the harsh unjust reproof, — I will not tear thee from the roof Thy pious zeal has sanctified, Nor bid thee cast the veil aside ; — 6 62 THE CONVENT BELL. On thee be Heaven's best blessings shown, The guilt, the punishment mj own ! — Short is our life's uncertain scene, Pass the few years that intervene, And freed at length, each kindred soul Shall seek the same celestial goal." VI. — " Now blessed be the Power who brought To soothe thy mind, that holy thought ! To happier scenes, through purer skies, May our glad souls together rise !" — She took the 'kerchief from her head, " Be this the simple pledge," she said, " Of friendship calm and bright ; Bear it to yonder battle-plain. And never may the blood-drop stain Its now untarnished white!" She gave it to his eager grasp. She met his hand's impassioned clasp, And bowed her lovely head ; Then drawing from his earnest hold. Her gentle hands once more to fold. Her crucifix she spread, And called on every saint to bless Her friend with glory and success. " Oh ! free from sorrow, pain and care, May'st thou behold thy native shore ! To Heaven shall rise that daily prayer — Farewell ! — on earth we meet no more ?" VII. — ^The sun is in the w^estern sky. And Love his frantic slave hath led THE CONVENT BELL. 63 To yonder steep so wildly high, Where man had never dared to tread. What seeks he there ? it is the hour, When in her favorite moss-clad bower, Maria never fails to raise Her hand in prayer, her voice in praise : So told the Friar and Ronald now, Goaded by love had reached the brow, Whose height a barrier safe was found To screen the garden's northern bound. His downward gaze at length he bends, And, careless of his life, descends ; — He cannot stay his rapid course, 'Tis like the mountain cataract's force, — Yet firmly still he trod, and now. His hand has grasped a friendly bough ; There rests he for a time to breathe, O'er the diminished space beneath. When gliding through the distant trees, Maria's graceful form he sees. And now a daring leap has thrown His weight on a projecting stone ; Descending now, where closer grew The cork tree and the spreading yew, A welcome aid they lent. And lightly, as from spray to spray The sportive squirrel speeds his way, His verdant course he bent. And now his eye the distance traced. Then glanced with piercing search around, One moment and his step is placed Within the garden's hallowed bound ! 64 THE CONVENT BELL. VIII. He trembles, yes, the heart that stood Unmoved in battle's crimson flood, Shrinks from the daring deed, which shame Tells him is sacrilegious blame. He will not heed the warning voice. He plunges in the myrtle shade, To lose it in the murmuring noise That issues from the bright cascade. A thousand roses gay entwine. Around the orange and the vine. — The heliotrt)pe, so soft and fair. Sheds its sweet perfume on the air, And all around, above, below, A fairy vision seems to glow ; He heeds it not — his steps are bent, To the rude grotto's cell ; 'Twas to that spot Maria went, — Perchance her beads to tell — Perchance to think on one too near, Less holy, but alas ! more dear. — IX. Soon has he reached the modest bower. And he has seen that drooping flower, Purer and sweeter than the rose That all around its fragrance throws. Low at the sacred shrine she kneels, While fast the trembling tear-drop steals ; Her bosom heaves in agony. And mingled with the frequent sigh, From her wan lips low murmured came A blessing, prayer, and — Ronald's name. THE CONVENT BELL. 65 What varying thrills of pain and bliss Rent his wild-throbbino; heart at this ! Yet holy awe withheld his hand. Half reaching to the gate, He seems upon the verge to stand Of everlasting fate : But fast those living crystals roll O'er her pale cheek, and melt his soul, While treacherous Love impels him on, Till every calmer thought is gone. Unheard is Reason's voice divine. And desperate to the holy shrine His daring steps proceed, — What power that frantic purpose quelled } Bernardo's sacred arm withheld And warned him from the deed. X. Astonishment, confusion, shame. In one o'erwhelming current came ; — The Father saw the moment's power. And drew him to the olive bower, And on his trembling lip he laid A supplicating hand ; While Ronald's awe-struck mind obeyed The mild and soft command, Maria slowly rose, and spread The veil around her drooping head ; Her arms were folded on her breast, And her meek bending form expressed Returning calmness in her mind. Forlorn, forsaken, but resigned ; — And Ronald strove not to unclasp Bernardo's weak but earnest grasp j — 6* 66 THE CONVENT BELL. Passive he stood, while glided by The sad unconscious fair, Then on the Father bent his eye, In sullen, calm despair : " I know my crime, 1 know its doom, Thrice welcome is the closing tomb !" " Yes, even the closing tomb, my son, Must welcome prove to thee. Favored by Heaven, by virtue won A glorious victory !" A tear from his mild eye that stole. Spoke soothing peace to Ronald's soul. " Much have 1 erred," Bernardo said. As through the screening orange shade Slowly they bent their way, — " For I exposed two gentle hearts. Unthinkingly to sorrow's darts. And Satan's deadly sway : Much have I erred — but Heaven forgave, And sent me to prevent and save. XI. " But say, by what strange chance you found An inlet to this guarded ground ?" He followed Ronald's glancing eye, And started, as the mountain high Met his astonished sight ; " The Virgin and the Saints defend ! And did you then, my son, descend From that tremendous height ! What was the purposed deed } — what cause ?"- He waited with an anxious pause : " I came for one last parting glance,— I saw Maria's step advance THE CONVENT BELL, 67 To yonder grot ^by passion wild Each sober faculty beguiled, I followed — heard the prayer addressed To Heaven for me ^you know the rest." — XII. His wondering eye the Father raised, Then silently his Maker praised ; And stooped him to the ground, where lay A rose just severed from the spray ; " My son, behold this lovely flower, It bloomed in a secluded bower ; Some idle hands misjudging tore The flowret from the stem. Its beauteous tints revive no more, It cannot profit them ! XIII. *' Who from yon peaceful fane would tear One maiden bud that blossoms there. Screened from the tempests rudely hurled O'er that defenceless waste — the world ? It was the hand of Heaven that spread The holy shelter o'er their head. And saved them from the storms of life, The clouds of wo, the waves of strife, The thousand agonies that press On woman's blighted tenderness. When by that poisoned shaft subdued, Their sex too often prove, The arrow of ingratitude. Barbed by the hand of love ! 68 THE CONVENT BELL. The faithful bosom left to bear The deep sad pressure of despair ; The day of pain, the night of sorrow, The joyless dawning of the morrow, The sickening eye, that cannot trace One comfort in creation's space, Until the pitying tomb shall close On the poor mourner's silent woes. — Now haste thee to the field and bear Even to thy grave this blighted flower,- The tale its faded leaves declare, Shall comfort thy departing hour !" CANTO VII, I. Alberche ! on thy winding stream The eye of morn was v/ont to beam, And make each opening flower display Its velvet petals in the ray, — To drink the pearl of glistening dew, And wake the songster's note anew ; Then the d:>rk prowlers of the night Sped from the se;'rching glance of light, Which bade Heav