Northern Star, And Warren And Bristol Gazette

THE NUN.

In Montreal's convent she took the white veil
And the waves of St. Lawrence have sighed to her wail;
Her gems are forgotten, the world and its cares
Have yielded their empire to rosaries and prayers:
Once her lips were twin cherries that blush'd on one stem,
Her cheeks sister roses, her eyes a dark gem;
Though grief is that maiden's, the tresses once stray'l
O'er her bosom of lilies in ringlets of shade.
And know ye, or seek ye, why blanch'd is her bloom?
Why her brow of white marble is shrouded in gloom
Why her snow arms are folded, her face so in wo?
And the pearls from her dark eyes incessantly flow?
Oh! joy is a vapour, the false one has flown,
Wo, wo to the traitor who call'd her his own,
Who stole to her bosom, its fondness beguil'd
And left the sweet garden a desolate wild.
Oh! the world and its arts they have broken her peace,
And never the tears of her sorrow shall cease;
But ne'er shall her grief to this dark world be given,
The gems that she weeps are all moulded in heaven.
In Montreal's convent she took the white veil,
And the waves of St. Lawrence have sigh'd to her wail;
Her gems are forgotten, the world and its cares
Have yielded their empire to rosaries and prayers.