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THE NUN.

In the still cloister garden
There roamed a blighted maid;
The moon shone sad above her,
Tears from her eyelids strayed
As she thought of her dead lover.

“ 'Tis well my faithful darling
Has gone away to rest,
For he in bliss abideth,
And we may love the blest—
My love no longer hideth.”

Where, silvered by the moonlight,
Stood Mary undefiled,
Drew near the trembling maiden:
As mother soothes her child,
She soothed the sorrow-laden;

Who at her feet fell gazing
Upwards in heavenly peace,
Till Death the calm eyes clouded,
The spirit found release—
Her veil the maiden shrouded.

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