The Young Novice.

The lights yet gleamed on the holy shrine, the incense hung around, But the rites were o'er, the silent church re-echoed to no sound; Yet kneeling there on the altar steps, absorbed in ardent prayer, Is a girl, as seraph meek and pure - as seraph heav'nly fair. The blue eyes, veiled by the lashes long that rest on that bright cheek Are humbly bent, while the snow-white hands are clasped in fervor meek, While in the classic lip and brow, each feature of that face, And graceful high-bred air, is seen she comes of noble race. But, say, what means that dusky robe, that dark and flowing veil, The silver cross - oh! need we ask? they tell at once their tale: They say that, following in the path that fair as she have trod, She hath renounced a fleeting world, to give herself to God. Her sinless heart to no gay son of this earth hath she given, Her's is a higher, holier lot, to be the Bride of Heaven; And the calm peace of the cloister's walls, abode of humble worth, Is the fit home for that spotless dove, too fair, too pure for earth.