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THE SISTER'S, A BALLAD.
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Its pale pure brightness will beseem those raven tresses well,
And I shall need such pomp no more in my lone convent cell."
"Oh speak not thus, my Leonor! why part from kindred love?
Thro' festive scenes, when thou art gone—my steps no more shall move!
How could I bear a lonely heart amid a reckless throng?
I should but miss earth's dearest voice in every tone of song;
Keep, keep the braid of Eastern pearls, or let me proudly twine
Its wreath once more around that brow, that queenly brow of thine."
