24
THE VOW OF THE PEACOCK.
And mingled with the rain, which kept
Perpetual moan, as if it wept.
While winds, amid the hollow caves,
Told the sad secrets of the waves.
It was a gloomy night—and, pale,
That young queen drew her mourning veil,
Which ill could screen that slender form
From the rude beating of the storm.
A convent reared upon the height,
Gave shelter from the closing night.
Thankful was that bright head to rest,
For charity's sweet sake, their guest.
It was a mournful sight to see
That youthful brow lie down
Without its purple canopy,
Without its royal crown;
