ON SEEING
A PICTURE OF THE BLESSED VIRGIN MARY,
PAINTED SEVERAL CENTURIES SINCE,
A FRAGMENT.
Roll back, thou tide of time, and tell
Of book, of rosary, and bell;
Of cloistered nun, with brow of gloom,
Immured within her living tomb;
Of monks, of saints, and vesper-song,
Borne gently by the breeze along;
Of deep-toned organ's pealing swell;
Of Ave Marie, and funeral knell;
Of midnight taper, dim and small,
Just glimmering through the high-arched hall;
Of gloomy cell, of penance lone,
Which can for darkest deeds atone:
Roll back, and lift the veil of night,
For I would view the anchorite,
Yes, there he sits, so sad, so pale,
Shuddering at Superstition's tale:
Crossing his breast with meagre hand,
While saints and priests, a motley band,
Arrayed before him, urge their claim
To heal in the Redeemer's name;
Of book, of rosary, and bell;
Of cloistered nun, with brow of gloom,
Immured within her living tomb;
Of monks, of saints, and vesper-song,
Borne gently by the breeze along;
Of deep-toned organ's pealing swell;
Of Ave Marie, and funeral knell;
Of midnight taper, dim and small,
Just glimmering through the high-arched hall;
Of gloomy cell, of penance lone,
Which can for darkest deeds atone:
Roll back, and lift the veil of night,
For I would view the anchorite,
Yes, there he sits, so sad, so pale,
Shuddering at Superstition's tale:
Crossing his breast with meagre hand,
While saints and priests, a motley band,
Arrayed before him, urge their claim
To heal in the Redeemer's name;
