And leaves those locks unhallowed growth, 900 But wears our garb in all beside; And, not from piety but pride, Gives wealth to walls that never heard Of his one holy vow nor word. Lo!--mark ye, as the harmony[dx] Peals louder praises to the sky, That livid cheek, that stony air Of mixed defiance and despair! Saint Francis, keep him from the shrine![dy] Else may we dread the wrath divine 910 Made manifest by awful sign. If ever evil angel bore The form of mortal, such he wore; By all my hope of sins forgiven, Such looks are not of earth nor heaven!" To Love the softest hearts are prone, But such can ne'er be all his own; Too timid in his woes to share, Too meek to meet, or brave despair; And sterner hearts alone may feel 920 The wound that Time can never heal. The rugged metal of the mine Must burn before its surface shine,[dz][112] But plunged within the furnace-flame, It bends and melts--though still the same; Then tempered to thy want, or will, 'Twill serve thee to defend or kill-- A breast-plate for thine hour of need, Or blade to bid thy foeman bleed; But if a dagger's form it bear, 930 Let those who shape its edge, beware! Thus Passion's fire, and Woman's art, Can turn and tame the sterner heart; From these its form and tone are ta'en, And what they make it, must remain, But break--before it bend again. * * * * * * * * * *