When, in the confident phrase of her father, Marcela de Carpio “espoused the eldest son of God,” her mystic nuptials called forth the truest “song-feast” ever held. The herald of old might bid the poets appear and compete for a monarch’s pleasure. Order a tournament of song, indeed! Mahomet was profound enough to go to the mountain. When the beautiful love-child of Lope de Vega and Micaela de Luzan took the veil, the ceremony was graced by all the dignity and circumstance which the Church could lavish in outward expression of the passion and fervor of the forceful old days of her power. All the poets of the day, great and small, seemed to have been summoned to this marriage feast, and all the poets of the day, great and small, vainly tried to transcribe the living poem their eyes beheld when that fair bride of Christ passed before them in a transport of ecstasy. At that time many great ladies were taking the veil with equal pomp and state, but no such tribute was paid them. What an absolutely inexplicable power is personality! Marcela de Carpio never published a line, and at this time had probably never written one. How did these minor poets recognize this fair daughter of Sappho? Was she “formed like a golden flower”? What a wonderful people are poets! But listen, for Sister Marcela’s bridal song is with us yet, she pipes so clear and sweet: I. “Let them say to my lover That here I lie! The thing of his pleasure, His slave am I. II. “Say that I seek him Only for love, And welcome are tortures My passion to prove. III. “Love giving gifts Is suspicious and cold; I have all, my Beloved, When Thee I hold. IV. “Hope and devotion The good may gain, I am but worthy Of passion and pain. V. “So noble a Lord None serves in vain— For the pay of my love Is my love’s sweet pain. VI. “I love thee, to love thee, No more I desire; By faith is nourished My love’s strong fire. VII. “I kiss Thy hands When I feel their blows; In place of caresses Thou givest me woes. VIII. “But in Thy chastening Is joy and peace; O Master and Love, Let not Thy blows cease! IX. “Thy beauty, Beloved, With scorn is rife! But I know that Thou lovest me Better than life. X. “And because Thou lovest me, Lover of mine, Death can but make me Utterly Thine. XI. “I die with longing Thy face to see; Ah, sweet is the anguish Of Death to me!”