No More Learning

now tell me (for thou canst)
A tale--a pretty tale--and heed thou not
Though it be rife with woe: It answers me.
It speaks of sunken eyes, and wasted cheeks,
And Beauty long deceased--remembers me
Of Joy departed--Hope, the Seraph Hope,
Inurned and entombed:--now, in a tone
Low, sad, and solemn, but most audible,
Whispers of early grave untimely yawning
For ruined maid. Fair mirror and true--thou liest not!
Thou hast no end to gain--no heart to break--
Castiglione lied who said he loved--
Thou true--he false! --false! --false!
(While she speaks, a monk enters her apartment, and approaches
unobserved. )

Monk. Refuge thou hast,
Sweet daughter, in Heaven. Think of eternal things!
Give up thy soul to penitence, and pray!

Lal. (arising hurriedly. ) I cannot pray! --My soul is at war
with God!
The frightful sounds of merriment below
Disturb my senses--go! I cannot pray--
The sweet airs from the garden worry me!
Thy presence grieves me--go! --thy priestly raiment
Fills me with dread--thy ebony crucifix
With horror and awe!

Monk. Think of thy precious soul!

Lal. Think of my early days! --think of my father
And mother in Heaven think of our quiet home,
And the rivulet that ran before the door!
Think of my little sisters! --think of them!
And think of me! --think of my trusting love
And confidence--his vows--my ruin--think--think
Of my unspeakable misery! --begone!
Yet stay! yet stay!