The lord of the isles . .Roused by the summons of the moss-grown hell;Sung were the matins, and the mass was said,And every sister sought her separate cell,Such was the rule, her rosary to Isahel has knelt in lonely prayer:The sunbeam, through the narrow lattice, fellUpon the snowy neck and long dark hair,As stoopd her gentle head in meek devotion there, IT. She raised her eyes, that duty done,Wnen glanced upon the pavement-stone,Gemmd and enchased, a golden ring,Bound to a scroll with silken string,With few brief words inscribed to tell,This for the Lady , the writing fa
The lord of the isles . .Roused by the summons of the moss-grown hell;Sung were the matins, and the mass was said,And every sister sought her separate cell,Such was the rule, her rosary to Isahel has knelt in lonely prayer:The sunbeam, through the narrow lattice, fellUpon the snowy neck and long dark hair,As stoopd her gentle head in meek devotion there, IT. She raised her eyes, that duty done,Wnen glanced upon the pavement-stone,Gemmd and enchased, a golden ring,Bound to a scroll with silken string,With few brief words inscribed to tell,This for the Lady , the writing farther bore,âTwas with this ring his plight lie this his promise I restore ;To her who can the heart command,Well may I yield the plighted 0 ! for better fortune born,Grudge not a passing sigh to mournETer who was Edith once of Lorn.(hie single Bash of glad glanced from Isabels dark eyes,Bui vauishd in the blush of shame,That, as iis penance, instant came. Ill 01 Till LSJ i - L95. â¢â () thought unworthy of my rate !Selfish, ungenerous, mean, and base,A moments throb of joy to own,That rose upon her hopes oerthrown!âThou pledge of vows too well believed,Of man Lngrate and maid deceived,Think not thy lustre here shall gainAnother heart to hope in vain ! THE LOUD OF THE 1SLLS. For thou shalt rest, thou tempting worldly thoughts are overawed,And worldly splendours sink by the cross the ring she placed. III. Xext rose the thought,âits owner far, How came it here through holt and bar?â But the dim lattice is ajar.â She looks abroad â the morning dew A light short step had hrushd anew. And there were foot-prints seenOn the carved buttress rising still,Till on the mossy window-sill Their track effaced the ivy twigs were torn and frayd,As if some climbers steps to aid.âBut who the hardy messenger,Whose venturous path these signs infer?âStrange doubts are mine! â Mona, draw nighâNought scapes old Monas
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Keywords: ., bookauthorturnerjmwjosephmallor, bookcentury1800, bookdecade1850
