Alone, within this dismal sanctuary, with hands outstretched towards the desecrated image of its tutelar saint, knelt Sybil. All was darkness. Neither the heavy vapors that surrounded her, nor the shrine before which she bent, were visible; but, familiar with the dreary spot, she knew that she had placed herself aright. Her touch had satisfied her that she bowed before the altar of stone; that her benighted vision was turned towards the broken image of the saint, though now involved in gloom the most profound; and with clasped hands and streaming eyes, in low and mournful tones, she addressed herself in the following hymn to the tutelar saint of the spot: HYMN TO SAINT THECLA In my trouble, in my anguish, In the depths of my despair, As in grief and pain I languish, Unto thee I raise my prayer. Sainted virgin! martyr'd maiden! Let thy countenance incline Upon one with woes o'erladen, Kneeling lowly at thy shrine; That in agony, in terror, In her blind perplexity, Wandering weak in doubt and error, Calleth feebly upon thee. Sinful thoughts, sweet saint, oppress me, Thoughts that will not be dismissed; Temptations dark possess me, Which my strength may not resist. I am full of pain, and weary Of my life; I fain would die: Unto me the world is dreary; To the grave for rest I fly. For rest!--oh! could I borrow Thy bright wings, celestial dove! They should waft me from my sorrow, Where peace dwells in bowers above. Upon one with woes o'erladen, Kneeling lowly at thy shrine; Sainted virgin! martyr'd maiden! Let thy countenance incline! _Mei miserere Virgo, Requiem æternam dona!_ By thy loveliness, thy purity, Unpolluted, undefiled, That in serene security Upon earth's temptations smiled;-- By the fetters that constrain'd thee, By thy flame-attested faith, By the fervor that sustain'd thee, By thine angel-ushered death;-- By thy soul's divine elation, 'Mid thine agonies assuring Of thy sanctified translation To beatitude enduring;-- By the mystic interfusion Of thy spirit with the rays, That in ever bright profusion Round the Throne Eternal blaze;-- By thy portion now partaken, With the pain-perfected just; Look on one of hope forsaken, From the gates, of mercy thrust. Upon one with woes o'erladen, Kneeling lowly at thy shrine, Sainted virgin! martyr'd maiden! Let thy countenance incline! _Ora pro me mortis horâ! Sancta Virgo, oro te! Kyrie Eleison!_