Oft did they steal the flow’ry Robe of _May_ To deck the altar and the shrines around: How fervent did They chant the pious Lay, While the deep organ swell’d the sacred sound? Let not the gay Coquette with Jest profane, Mock their veil’d Life and Destiny severe: Nor Worldly Beauty with a sneer disdain The humble Duties of the Cloyster’d Fair. The glist’ning Eye: The half seen Breast of Snow, The coral Lip, the clear vermilion Bloom Awaits alike th’ inexorable Foe, The Paths of Pleasure lead but to the Tomb. Forgive, Ye fair, whom _Britain’s_ Sons admire, If This her meanest Bard incur your Blame, While He devotes not to your Praise the Lyre, But to the convent dedicates his Theme. Can These partake the sprightly-moving Dance? Or in the Garb of Luxury appear? Can These e’er pierce the Lover with a Glance? Or grace the Tragic scene with Pity’s Tear? Perhaps in this drear Mansion are confin’d Some whose accomplish’d Beauty cou’d impart The soft Desire to the severest Mind, And wake to Extacy the throbbing Heart. But splendid Life in each Allurement drest Attracts Them not, tho’ flush’d with youthful Bloom: Stern Pennance chills the Ardour of their Breast, And buries their Ambition in his Gloom. Full many a Riv’let steals its gentle way Unheard, untasted, by the thirsty Swain, Full many a Philomel attunes her Lay, And pours her plaintive Melody in vain. Some veil’d _Eliza_ (like the clouded Sun) May here reside inglorious and unknown; Some, like _Augusta_, might have rear’d a Son To bless a Nation and adorn a Throne. From Flatt’ry’s Lip to drink the Sweets of Praise, In Wit and Charms with other Belles to vie, In Circles to attract the partial Gaze And view Their Beauty in th’ Admirer’s Eye Their Lot forbids: nor does alone remove The Thirst of Praise, but e’en their Vices chains, Forbids thro’ Folly’s Labyrinths to rove, And yield to Pleasure the unheeded reins: To raise mid Hymen’s Joys domestic Strife, Or seek that Converse which They ought to shun To break the sacred Ties of married Life And give to many what they vow’d to one. Far from the Bustle of the splendid Throng They tread Obscurity’s sequester’d Vale, Where the white Hours glide silently along Smooth as the Stream, when sleeps the breezy Gale. Yet tho’ they’re sprinkled with ethereal Dew? With blooming Wreaths by Hands of Seraphs crown’d? Tho’ Heav’n’s eternal Splendors burst to View? And Harps celestial to their Ear resound? Still grateful Mem’ry paints the absent Friend, Not e’en the World to their Remembrance dies: Their Mid-night Orisons to Heav’ns ascend To stop the Bolt descending from the Skies. For who entranc’d, in Visions from above The Thought of Kindred razes from the Mind? Feels in the Soul no warm returning Love For some endear’d Companion left behind.